


Kept Close

by Leaper



Category: Glee
Genre: AO3 Author Auction Fill, Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaper/pseuds/Leaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Karofsky doesn't particularly care for the institution of slavery.  When his grandfather leaves him a slave in his will, he's not quite sure how to proceed... especially when said slave ends up being more fascinating, and more broken, than he ever could've imagined...</p><p>Fill for the AO3 Author Auction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Will and a Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gladucame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gladucame/gifts).



> So, this is my fill for the AO3 author auction for my winner, villainessy. I'm quite excited that someone, let alone two someones, actually bid on me, so I'm very happy to fill this! Heck, the idea that someone wanted ME, in particular, to write something for them has added a LOT of motivation on my part! In honor of the auction, you won't see this piece anywhere else but right here.
> 
> Original prompt: David unexpectedly comes into a possession (wins in a card game, inherits or receives as a gift or whatever, I just don't want it to be a purchase) of an unruly, self-destructive slave Sebastian.

"Mr. Karofsky?  I'm Martin Greyson, the late Mr. Patton's attorney.  And you must be David?"

"Yeah. Nice to meet you."

"I have to say, Mr. Greyson, I'm still a little puzzled.  My sons and I haven't had a lot of contact with my ex-wife's family since the divorce.  I wasn't even invited to my father-in-law's funeral; my sons were, but they chose on their own not to attend without me.  I don't see why Murray would have left any of us anything."

"Be that as it may, Mr. Patton was very specific that he wished to recognize all of you in his will.  He does... did value family, and he considered you family, no matter what the circumstance... Ah, is Jack not joining us?"

"No, he's still in California.  He's authorized me to handle whatever Murray left him.  Quite frankly, he's said he doesn't _want_ anything Murray left him."

"I see.  Well, my job is to make sure you get what Mr. Patton wished you to get.  What you do with it afterward is none of my concern.  Now, Mr. Patton left behind a very substantial estate, most of which went to his immediate family.  However, as I said, you were also family to him, no matter what the state of your relationship was, so each of you were named beneficiaries in the will.

"To Paul Karofsky, he left his first edition King James Bible from his book collection, as... ah... 'a foundation on which to guide your future decisions'."

"Hmph.  Typical Murray."

"For Jack Karofsky, he established a trust fund, so that 'the world is open to him.'"

"How much is in this trust fund?"

"Here is the paperwork.  You'll need to have your son fill out some forms if he truly wishes you to handle the fund on his behalf."

"I'll ask—  What...? _That_ much? This can't be right!"

"I assure you, Mr. Karofsky, that the numbers are accurate."

"Let me see that, Dad...  Holy shit! Feh, goddamn Jack.  Becomes a hippie liberal just to piss off Mom and her family, and Grandpa Murray _still_ gives him everything!"

"Well, he _is_ still your grandpa's first grandchild, son.  Guess that kind of sentimentality is pretty hard to kill...  What about David?"

"Ah, yes...  For David Karofsky, he left a personal slave, 'so that my grandson may learn responsibility, and for the betterment of his personal life.'"

"Wait, what...? A slave...?"

"Mm, yes.  I don't know much about it, except from what I've been able to glean from the paperwork, but it's about your son's age, and does have adequate service experience..."

"A slave...? I can't keep a slave!  I'm just a college student — I can barely afford to feed myself! My dorm room hardly has enough space for me and my roommate!"

"Mr. Patton considered that. He has also left you a trust fund of your own, the money specifically earmarked for the slave's keep and feeding until you have sufficient employment to handle expenses on your own.  That includes a new single-occupant apartment in Columbus with adequate facilities for the slave's boarding and discipline.  You still do go to Ohio State University, do you not...?  Ah, well, that's irrelevant; the trust money can also be used for another home should you decide to transfer..."

"But... a slave!  I... I can't have a slave!  It... I..."

"What my son is trying to say, Mr. Greyson, is that he — that my side of the family — is a little uncomfortable with slaves.  It's one of the reasons for the estrangement from my in-laws."

"Ah, well, this situation is not uncommon these days, what with all the talk about emancipation.  There are ways to dispose of the asset should you not want it."

"Dispose...?"

"Oh, no, not that way, David, I assure you.  I simply meant that you can have the slave sold at auction, with the proceeds to go to you, tax-free. Or if you have a specific buyer in mind, a deal can be made directly."

"I don't know anyone who can afford or want a slave right now.  And... those auctions...  I've seen them on TV, and some of those buyers, they..."

"Yes, many of them are... uncouth.  Or have plainly less than civilized motives.  But I'm afraid that's the price we pay for a free market.  I have the ownership transfer paperwork right here.  If you wish to dispose of your legacy elsewhere, I have the requisite forms ready for your signature."

"Er, Mr. Greyson, if I could have a moment alone with my son...?"

"Of course.  I'll be in the other room."

"Thank you...  David?  Are you okay?"

"Yeah... I think so.  I guess... I knew Grandpa Murray had slaves, but I don't remember even seeing any of them..."

"Your grandfather would make sure they were kept away from us when we visited.  He knew how I felt about them...  I guess he really did consider us family."

"I don't want a slave!  It's... it's just _wrong_!"

"I understand, son."

"But if I don't take him... or her... they could go to anyone!  Someone who could abuse them, or..."

"I know.  But it's up to you.  I'll support you whatever you choose. I won't blame you one bit if you decide you can't be a part of this.  This is a very difficult decision, especially for a young man your age, and to be frank, I hate your grandfather even more for forcing you to make it..."

"Ah, pardon the interruption, gentlemen, but something's come up, and I'm afraid I have to leave soon.  If David still needs to make a decision, we can meet again tomorrow, and—"

"No.  I've made up my mind.  I'll... take the slave."

"Ah, excellent!  Here's the paperwork... If you could sign there and there...  Yes, and now read this over and sign there... And that should do it!  Here's the dossier... Your grandfather also provided a few books from his library on proper discipline..."

"Is... is that him?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, that's its photo.  Its name is Sebastian, and there are no major black marks on its record, so I believe that you should be very pleased with your new acquisition."

"Yeah.  Real pleased..."


	2. COD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my decision to do the all-dialogue thing lasted about four hours, until I realized that it meant no physical descriptions whatsoever. However, since I tend to put in too many pregnant pauses and florid descriptions and such, I've decided to at least try minimal non-dialogue, just to see how it works out. I think it will. I hope it will. 
> 
> (The one thing about writing for someone else — I've already felt this with the gift exchange I'm writing for — is the pressure of writing FOR someone in particular! Arrrgh! I get more and more nervous the more I write of this thing! We'll see what happens...)

"Christ, Dad, you should see this place! It's pretty much the fucking penthouse suite! It's _huge_! It's got, like, skylights and an awesome view and all the latest appliances, big screen TV... A concierge! A fucking _concierge_ , Dad!"

"Heh... sounds nice, son."

"And it's, like, less than a ten minute walk from campus! Do you have _any_ idea how expensive this area is?"

"Considering Murray... I think I do."

"Okay, I'm in the master bedroom right now, and... Shit, Dad, the fucking _closet_ is bigger than my old dorm room! I could _live_ in it!"

"I think you've spent enough time in closets, David."

"Hah! I guess you're right... Oh, here's a room I haven't seen yet. Wonder what... Oh."

"David...? Is something the matter?"

"This door, Dad... It locks from the outside."

"What? Why...? Oh."

"I, uh... I'm not sure I want to see what's inside."

"It's your place now. You don't have to—"

"No, I do. I... I won't be able to sleep, until..." The creak of the door. "God..."

"What? What is it?"

"It's, like, half the size of the closet, if that. There's no windows, a tiny air vent... It's all concrete, and there's a drain in the middle of the fucking _floor_... There's just a cot, and a brass pot, and... There are... are shackles attached to the wall..."

"Lord..."

"Dad, what the fuck am I doing? I can't do this. He's coming _tomorrow_ , and I have no idea if I'm gonna—"

"Calm down, David. You'll be fine. I'll admit that there was a time when I was worried about you... for many reasons... but you've grown into a fine young man whom I'm very proud of. Just... do what you think is right, and you'll be okay. _He'll_ be okay."

"I... Thanks, Dad. That... means a lot. It means a whole fucking lot."

Whatever the sentiment, that didn't mean that Dave had an easy time getting to sleep. Even with the king sized bed all to himself, the high thread count sheets, and the near-perfect quiet, with only the hum of the city below as white noise... It might as well have been the cot in the cold concrete room, for all the comfort it gave.

* * *

"David Karofsky?"

"Yeah."

"Sign here. And here." The delivery guy was flat, clinical, as if he were dropping off a refrigerator or a box of books from Amazon. "Hey, Bill! Hurry the fuck up! We gotta get the next one in by three!" Another uniformed man appeared, leading a tall and thin — almost gaunt — young man in chains. Grey t-shirt. Grey sweatpants. Worn sandals. Blond hair mussed and uncombed. Hollow blue eyes staring at Dave, seeing what? If anything? "Inspection?"

"Huh? What?"

" _Inspection_. You gotta sign off on condition. If something happened in transit, we gotta fill out forms and shit." Dave was only half listening to the words, but he heard the voice loud and clear: Bored. Weary. Just a job. Just cargo. Drop it off and move on to the next one. Clock off after a long day of shuttling human cargo, knock out a couple of beers, go home and fuck the wife. Or the mistress.

"Uh..." Dave stepped forward; the blond's eyes suddenly came to life, his head perked. Dave circled the slave, looking for obvious bruises or injuries. The slave — Sebastian, Dave reminded himself — followed the circuit, an eyebrow quirked, as if in amusement.

The delivery guys had much the same expression. "Okay," he said to the slave, "lift up the shirt, drop the pants."

Dave nearly choked on his own spit. "What?!"

"How are you gonna do a full inspection with his clothes on? Come on, hurry it up, I got more deliveries to make."

Dave turned; to his shock, Sebastian had already dropped his pants and had his shirt hanging from one fist before the exchange even ended. Unblemished skin, lean muscle... They were supposed to be signs of health and fair treatment, but all Dave's mind could process were the aesthetics... He prayed no one could tell as he circled again, taking in the curves and crevices...

"Yeah." Swallow. "Looks... good."

"Then sign here. Okay, enjoy." Very insincere — rote. He handed a large key to Dave, then immediately turned towards the elevators. "What's next, Bill? It's the Chisholm delivery, right?" They disappeared, leaving the two young men alone in the entryway.

"So." Silence. "So, uh... Come on in?"

"Love to," a languid voice replied. He shook the chains on his ankles.

"Oh! Shit! Sorry." He wielded the key like an awl, jerking the opened shackles off.

Sebastian frowned at this, but shrugged — mostly to himself, it seemed. He stood.

"Uh... Aren't you going in?"

"Is that your order?" A tinge of sarcasm.

"What? Oh... Well, uh... I guess it'd be pretty stupid for you to just stand there all day."

"So...?"

"So... Go on in."

"Okay." He did.

Dave shut the door behind them. Active eyes took in the room. Silence again.

"Well? What am I supposed to do?"

"Uh... I dunno... What do you think...?"

"Are you seriously fucking asking _me_ that? I'm your _slave_. My job — my _life_ — is to DO. Do what _you_ say. I can't just go doing whatever I want."

"You don't _sound_ like any slave I've ever met."

"Yeah, well, I'm not. Besides, it sounds like you need the help. You're new at this, aren't you, Cubby?"

"... Cubby?"

Casual shrug. "You're big and soft, like a bear cub."

"Okay, I _definitely_ know that slaves usually don't give their masters nicknames. At least not to their faces."

A smirk. "Now you're getting it. You: master. Me: slave."

Dave's eyes widened. He tried to suppress a shudder. "I know that," he said softly. "I'm not an idiot."

"Just proving a point." He gave an appraising look that sparked that shudder Dave tried so hard to keep away. "You don't act like I expected from Master Murray's grandson."

"Yeah, well, my side of the family have been abolitionists for three generations. You don't have to worry about me."

"Really? So what am I doing here?"

"Better than you going onto the open market."

"So why do you care either way?"

"Like I said, abolitionists. My family took you, it's my family's responsibility." Pause, for breath, for rational thought. "What about you? Your file didn't tell me anything about you."

"Why would it? I'm a slave. I go where I'm ordered to go. My past doesn't matter, except for my service record. There something specific you want to know?"

"Yeah. My Grandpa Murray was always strict, even with me and my brother. I'm surprised you lasted with him, if this is the way you act."

Sebastian smirked. "I didn't act 'this way' when I was with him. I adapt. All good slaves do."

The word opened the pit back in Dave's stomach. Without the shackles, with Sebastian standing there in his living room, it was easy to forget, without the word. "So if you're only acting like this with me, that means...?"

"Not sure yet. That's why I'm doing it."

"What?"

"Nothing." He approached the kitchen. "You want me to cook you something?"

"Uh... Maybe...?"

Sly smile. "What if I don't _want_ to cook?"

"Then... I'll do it myself. I've been cooking for myself since I was sixteen. Besides, I have no idea how good you are yet anyway. No offense."

Sebastian's eyes widened. "You can't be for real."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Why are you treating me this way?"

"Like what?"

"Like... Like I'm something I'm not! Do you have any idea how people are going to react if they see you treat me like some kind of buddy?"

"I didn't think we were friends."

"We're not! Finally, you get it!"

"I mean, we just met. We hardly know each other, and—"

"GAH!" The frustrated grunt caused Dave to jump. "This isn't a _game_ , Cubby. I'm not here to _amuse_ you..." That smirk again, oddly self-assured for a slave. "Unless you want me to..."

Dave's face heated. "Who the hell are you?"

"Your slave. So go ahead, do with me what you will."

Dave's mind reeled. None of this was what he expected, nothing about this guy made sense... Unless... He cast his own searching look; Sebastian didn't even notice, he was too busy looking over the apartment again. But Dave saw it. That very familiar look, for just a moment...

Was he...? Was _that_ what he wanted...?

Of course. That had to be it. That would explain everything, wouldn't it?

"I told you," he said calmly, "I'm not my Grandpa Murray. I'm an abolitionist. I'm not going to treat you like a personal plaything."

Sebastian shook his head in amusement. "You say that now. But I've always found that abolitionists make the most... enthusiastic masters. Eventually. Once they get a taste of the good life..."

"I'm not like that."

"You're still your grandfather's grandson, right?"

"Don't." Dave felt the storm clouds in his mind. "Don't you _dare_ compare me to him..."

Sebastian full-on beamed. His pleasure banished the clouds in an instant. "There you go. I knew you had some fire to ya. Even if you're right, that's one family trait you have. You're _intense_."

"Uh... Thanks...?" He still wasn't calm. Not yet. He had to remind himself of what he'd figured out. Context. It was all about context.

"So how about lunch?" The question was so casual it caught Dave off guard. "I assume your fridge and pantry is stocked?"

"Yeah. Make whatever you want."

"Tsk. You still don't get how these things work, do you?"

Dave rolled his eyes. "Fine. I _order_ you to make me a tuna fish sandwich and some lemonade. And cut the crusts off while you're at it."

"See? Your first order as a slavemaster. I told you you'd be fine at this."

Despite what Dave knew, despite the jocularity of the words... he couldn't help the horror that came over him in that moment.

* * *

Sebastian had been worried for a bit, but like he said, he knew that David Karofsky was his grandfather's grandson. He had to be.  And he'd been telling the truth when he said that abolitionists made the... "best" masters.

He just didn't say _how_.

But he could tell already that this would require a... lighter touch than he'd anticipated.  He had to go easy at first, be the good little slave, make gentle suggestions and be receptive to orders. Let the kid come into his own, get comfortable with his newfound situation... his newfound _power_.

He'd come to enjoy it. That was inevitable.

Then... Then...!

Maybe David Karofsky would be the one to give Sebastian what he hoped for... what he dreamed for...

What he deserved.


	3. Routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing continues to fucking terrify me. Hope it's going well. I've rearranged several events in the middle of the story three or four times now, and I'm still not satisfied. Fortunately, this is before that sticky point, so I present it here. Enjoy, and wish me luck on the important parts that are still in flux. :P

"Wake up, Master David."

"Mmmph."

"Oh, for... Every morning..." There was the rattle of curtain rings, and a shaft of light fell over Dave's eyes. He groaned. "It's already half past seven. You'll be late for class if you don't get up now."

"Morning people should be rounded up and shot," Dave muttered into the pillow. His legs turned cold as Sebastian pulled the covers off him. "Hey!"

"I was ordered to do whatever it took to get you out of bed," Sebastian said mildly.

"Well, the sadistic bastard gave you those orders should also be shot."

"Breakfast is ready, and I've got a pot of coffee on." He left without another word, trying as usual to ignore Dave's usual sleeping attire (or lack thereof; it amounted to basically a pair of boxer shorts).

Dave shuffled into the dining room ten minutes later, bleary eyed and half dressed. "New orders: make sure I sign up for absolutely no morning classes next semester. Threaten me bodily if you have to."

"Noted." He poured Dave a cup of coffee; the very anticipation of caffeine woke him up a bit. A plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and a buttered English muffin appeared next to it.

"Mm, smells good."

"I'm glad you like it."

"I do. You're an awesome cook."

"I do what is required of me, and I do it well. Do you need anything else right now?"

Dave grabbed his coffee cup and drank down the dark, bitter brew gratefully. "Nope, I'm good."

"Then I'll go lay out the rest of your clothes."

Dave nodded absently as he ate and read the morning's Columbus Dispatch already folded and waiting in the center of the table.

Fifteen minutes later, Dave was shrugging on a light jacket. "Have you seen my...?" Sebastian stood by the door, holding up a backpack in his hands. "Oh. Thanks." He waved off Sebastian's attempt to put it on him, instead slinging it over his shoulders himself.

"Are you coming home for lunch?"

"Yeah. Should be usual time."

"Very good."

Dave started to answer, but then glanced at his watch. Yelping, he hurried out the door. Sebastian watched him go in bemusement.

* * *

"I was thinking of beef stew for dinner."

Dave nodded as he flipped through his binder of notes while taking occasional bites from a ham sandwich in his free hand. "Sounds good."

Sebastian peeked over his shoulder. "If you don't mind me asking...?"

"Oh, just research for my paper. Fucking liberal arts requirements. Just shove a bunch of numbers at me anytime. The one good thing about English is that as long as I can bullshit good reasons, any interpretation I give has to be accepted, right? Death of the author and all that?"

"So what are you...? Ah, _The Hunchback of Notre Dame._ Classic."

"You think if I write about the symbolism of the talking gargoyles that I'll get away with it?"

Sebastian barked a laugh. "Probably not." He watched Dave squint at his notes. "I could help..."

"Nuh uh. No slave help allowed. It's in the syllabus."

"Thorough syllabus."

"Yeah, Professor Rawlings doesn't miss much." He slammed the binder shut. "Gah. I hate French. I hate French literature. I hate French bread. French fries are okay, though, but that's it..."

" _Oh! que no suis-je de pierre comme toi!_ "

Dave blinked. "You...?"

"Yeah. I lived in Paris for a while."

"Really? Wow, that's—"

"Anyway," Sebastian hurried on, "like I said, this is a classic. The history of an entire people in one novel. It's huge, epic. Like Notre Dame. And that's no accident."

"I can tell." Sebastian didn't like the look on Dave's face, not at all. But it quickly disappeared as he opened his binder again. "Look, you can't write the paper for me, but you sound like you've read this book before."

"Of course." He hadn't meant it to sound so smug, but he did.

"Like I said, literature's not my thing. I barely got through the book once. So maybe if I pick your brain, get somewhere to start? I'd really appreciate it." Sebastian coughed. "Fine. We're doing this. Now."

"Excellent." Sebastian sat down. "Book?" Dave handed it over. "Okay, let's start with one of my favorite passages. It's in book three..."

* * *

"Ugh." The couch nearly jumped at the sudden application of weight.

"How was practice?"

"Fucking rough. I thought I busted my ass in high school. But college level hockey? Goddamn, I ache."

"I know just the cure for that." Sebastian cracked his knuckles and began kneading at Dave's shoulders.

"Oh, man... Oh, holy shit, that's good... Can you scooch your left hand just a little to the— God, that's it... Fuck, how did I get through life without this?"

"Good question."

"So how (a little harder, please?) did you learn how to do this?"

The hands faltered. "I had... practice." Sebastian felt Dave's shoulders stiffen once more with new tension. "Don't! Now I have to start all over again!"

"I'm not sure I mind..."

"What?"

"Nothing."

* * *

"What's that?"

Sebastian set the bowl of stew in front of Dave. "What?"

"That song you were humming just now."

Sebastian blinked. "I was humming something?"

"Yeah. You do that a lot when you're concentrating on something, but this is the first time I've heard it that clear."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I shouldn't—"

"What the fuck is wrong with humming? You're not like John Lithgow in _Footloose_ , are you? No singing, no dancing?"

"You like that movie?"

"Are you questioning my taste?"

 _Yes_. "Of course not. I'm just... surprised. You don't seem like the _Footloose_ type."

"What, just because I play sports and drink beer instead of fruity cocktails, my movies are supposed to be dripping with blood and testosterone? Okay, fine, some are — I love me some Vin Diesel — but I got my soft side."

Sebastian turned away for a moment to hide his smirk. "I never doubted that."

Dave raised an eyebrow. "Okay, that's it: movie marathon. My favorites 'til midnight."

"I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Should I make popcorn, or—"

"Me? You think this is for me? Fuck, no, this is for _you_."

"... Me?"

"Yeah, you. Why not?"

"Because I—"

"Oh, hell, not the whole boundaries speech again."

"I have work to do... I still have dishes to do and tomorrow's meals to plan..."

"And that has to be done now? If I ordered you to sit down and watch movies, would you?"

"I... Of course I would."

"Then that's what I'll do: I'm ordering you. Look at it this way: the more you know me, the better you'll do at... service, right?"

"I suppose you could see it that way..."

"Then it's settled." Dave took in a large spoonful of stew, chewing thoughtfully on a hunk of beef. "So, the song...?"

"What so— Oh. Right. Just a plain old pop song. Michael Jackson. Corny, but I always kind of liked it."

"Which one? I didn't recognize it." There was silence. "Sebastian?"

"Hm? Oh. 'You Are Not Alone'."

"I don't think I know that one." _Liar_ , Sebastian thought instantly. "Sing a little bit? To jog my memory."

 _He's your master, he's your master..._ Sebastian repeated to himself mentally. "Of course." He took a small breath, his hands clasped behind his back like he was an eight year old performing in a recital.

 _Another day has gone_...  
 _I'm still all alone_...  
 _How could this be_...  
 _You're not here with me..._

Sebastian paused, unaccountably out of breath. He'd sung, done, a _lot_ more without running out of oxygen. He took in more air and continued, skipping a few lines.

_Everyday I sit and ask myself_  
 _How did love slip away..._  
 _Something whispers in my ear and says:_  
 _That you are not alone..._  
 _I am here with you..._

He cut himself off. "Does that jog your memory?"

Dave rubbed one eye with the side of his hand. "Yeah." He paused. "That was really great. You have a really nice voice."

"Um... Thanks." He refilled Dave's empty water glass.

"You aren't going to do that again, are you?"

"I... If you order me to."

"Hm."

"What?"

"It wouldn't be the same."

Sebastian didn't know how to answer that, so he didn't.

* * *

"What do you think so far?"

"How do you want me to answer?"

A sigh. "Fine. I _order_ you to answer honestly."

"Oh, thank God. Then my answer is that I've seen better cinematography in third rate porn."

"It's not _about_ cinematography, or acting, or the script. It's about the action. It's about taking your breath away with the... the _audacity_ of it. It's about yelling 'hell yeah' as everything blows the shit up."

"You realize you just put more poetry in a few sentences than exist in that entire movie."

"Like I said, irrelevant."

"I thought this was supposed to be about showing me your softer side?"

"That's the _next_ DVD. You want some popcorn?"

"Sure, I— I mean, if you want me to..."

"Yes, if _you_ want to. For God's sake, you don't wait for my permission to use the bathroom..."

"Only because you don't expect me to."

"What...? Oh."

Gunshots rang out from the cutting edge stereo system.

"Don't pity me."

"What?"

"Don't pity me. You don't have to. And I don't need it."

"What, telling your _master_ what to think of you?"

"No, of course not! But—"

"Besides, it's not pity. It's... thinking. About your situation."

"Well, that's unnecessary too—"

"Ahem."

"I mean... Whatever you want, Master David."

"Thank you."

* * *

"Another cup of coffee?"

Dave yawned. "Nah, I gotta get to bed soon. No sense studying if I'm just going to fall asleep in the middle of the quiz."

"I distracted you. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. I do my best work at the last minute anyway." Dave slammed the book shut. "Okay, that's it. I'm done."

"Should I prepare a bath, or...?"

"I'll just shower in the morning."

"Then I'll prepare your—"

"It's a bed, Sebastian. It's got sheets and blankets. I can pull them aside and pull them over me just fine."

"I didn't say you couldn't."

"I know, I know... It's just that I get the feeling you'd probably brush my teeth for me if I asked... And don't answer that!"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"That's the wrong question. It's more like, 'why _should_ you'?"

"You know very well why."

"I keep telling you..." Dave shook his head. "It's too late for this crap. I'm sure we'll pick it up again tomorrow."

"I'm sure," Sebastian muttered under his breath.

Dave retreated towards the master bedroom. "Don't stay up too late. There's nothing you can do that won't keep. Hell, watch the next movie in my queue. G'night." The words were so casual, as if he were speaking to an overnight guest, or a hired handyman at best, that Sebastian stared after him, long after the door shut.

* * *

The oddest part was, the day wasn't even all that unusual.

As he went to sleep that night, on the huge leather couch in the living room (because even if he wasn't going to use the cot, as Dave insisted, he sure as hell wasn't going to have his own bed), it struck Sebastian just how _normal_ the day was. It was all part of the routine: all the smooth edges, all the little bumps, all the _moments._

"Oh, God..." he said aloud. He froze; he barely heard Dave's steady snoring on the other side of the closed master bedroom door. He sighed with relief.

But back to the routine. The very fact that it _was_ so "normal"... This...

This was _not_ good.

Not at all.

He had to shake things up a bit, nudge things into running their proper and inevitable course. And he knew just how to do it.

The smirk was still on his face as he slipped off into sleep.


	4. Bedside Manner

The world returned to Dave Karofsky in layers. First, touch: the pillow under his head, the sheets (as soft and silken as he imagined a lover's touch would be) under his body, the heat of the sun warming his cheek. Then sound: the rustling of the curtains, the hum of the heating and cooling system, the muffled honks of car horns many stories below. Taste came next, mostly the flat mealiness of eight hours' worth of dried spit and morning breath. Smell came from the slightest hint of fabric softener that still wafted from the freshly washed bedding (better that than his own sweat, right?).

So that left sight. But that would mean that Dave would have to open his eyes. That would mean starting the day and actually having to get out of bed.

Fuck that shit. It was Saturday.

Dave turned over, away from the windows, and let the world drift away again.

He wasn't sure how much longer he slept, or what he dreamed about in those last minutes or hours before things got _really_ complicated (then again, perhaps his simple life ended when Grandpa Murray died, or the second he signed his will). What he did remember was the voice that tickled his ears, rousing him from whatever images his subconscious was feeding him.

"Dave..."

Dave grumbled deep in his chest.

"David..."

"Mm, wha-?" He slowly started to focus on the voice. "Sebastian...?"

"Time to get... up, Master David."

"Lemme sleep..."

"I have something I want to—"

"I said, lemme sleep. S'an order..." He reached over to grab the other pillow so he could jam it over his head and block out his slave's voice. His hand struck something solid.

"Ow!"

That exclamation... way too close. The solid thing... It felt like his fingers had brushed hair...

It took Dave's sleep muddled mind a moment or two to add two and two. But the surge of adrenaline certainly opened his eyes.

Lying in the bed next to him, his head propped up on one hand, was Sebastian. He was grinning in a way Dave did not at all recognize, his lean chest bare to the morning light.

"Holy—!" He scrambled to get upright, scrambled to get out of the bed, but was thwarted. Somehow, the sheets and blankets had been tucked so tightly over him that they were practically strapping him into the bed. Before he could extricate himself, Sebastian touched Dave's shoulder, running his hand up and down his exposed skin. A jolt shot through Dave's mind; his struggles ceased. "S-Sebastian? Wh-what are you...?"

"Just introducing you to a... whole new horizon."

"What do you mean?" Dave knew intellectually that he shouldn't be having this conversation, at least not like this. He should be getting out of bed first, getting dressed, _then_ having this conversation when he was on better footing. But the feeling of Sebastian's caresses — and oh God is he shimmying closer? — was short circuiting something in his brain. The spirit is willing, but...

"You're still new to this ownership thing. You've been using me as a glorified live in cook and maid. I can be... so much more than that." Sebastian's body was now pressed against his. To his relief, Dave could feel that Sebastian was wearing pants. To his panic, he realized that he had a little involuntary... problem down below, and that Sebastian too was... Oh God, what the fuck was he _doing_? "I can make you feel real _real_ good..."

"H-how do you know I want what you have?" Dave's voice sounded distant to his own head, as if someone else was mimicking him from far away.

Sebastian's lips pressed into a sly smirk. "You don't have to be gay to be... interested in what I have. I speak from experience. But you, at least, are gay. I have all the confirmation I want right _here_..." A hand snaked under the sheets, his fingers just brushing Dave's crotch; Dave twitched, but to his shame, he didn't move, or try to bat the hand away. "But I knew it before. You... stare."

Dave's face burned. "I do _not_." Fortunately for him, his embarrassment was starting to chase away his involuntary lust, starting to bring back some semblance of rationality.

"Oh, but you do, big boy. And it's okay. That's what I'm here for."

"What.. what do you mean?"

"I'm here to serve you. That's what I am. That's what I do. And by 'serve,' I mean in _every_ way possible." His lips were close now, so tantalizingly close. "I will do whatever you want. Be whatever you want. Bottom, top, both... Whatever fantasies you have, whatever kinks you're afraid of... I'll do it all. I'll do it without complaint, without hesitation. Everything. _Anything_."

Dave swallowed, his heart a lump in his throat. His loins were aching, his hands itching to reach out, to _hold_... "I..." _Goddammit, Dave, focus! You know this isn't right! You can't, you can't, you...!_ Sebastian's arms wrapped around his waist. _Oh God he feels so good..._

"Do it, Master," he whispered. "Just ask, just _order_ , and I'll do it. Let yourself go. Don't think about me. I'm just a thing, here for your pleasure."

It was as good as having a bucket of cold water dumped onto his head. His mind was clear, his need evaporated, his conscience gave his lust a good ass kicking. He gently took Sebastian's wrists and pulled them off his body. "No."

Sebastian looked almost comically bewildered. "But... You want me."

"Not like this." He wondered even as he said it if it was the right way to phrase the sentiment, but at least it was out there.

Sebastian's face settled into something that looked like annoyance. "As I told you, _Maste_ _r_ David, I'm just informing you of the facts. And the fact is, you have the option to—"

"That's right." He yanked the sheets out and clambered out of bed, making a point of putting on a t-shirt. "And I'm not taking it."

"But—!"

Dave glowered. He had to nip this in the bud, right here and right now. "Are you telling me what to do?"

Sebastian deflated. "Of course not, master."

"Okay, then, here's an order: I will _not_ use you for sex. Do _not_ ask again, and never, _never_ pull _anything_ like the stunt you just pulled."

"I'm sorry, master. I was just trying to please you."

Dave's heart ached a little at seeing Sebastian's downcast, self-flagellating tone; it was so _foreign_ , it didn't belong there, the kind of fire that so obviously burned in Sebastian's soul shouldn't be dying like that... He had to force sternness into his voice. "Yeah, well, you can please me by taking what I said seriously."

"I will follow every word if it's your will." The words sounded horrifyingly rote.

"It is."

Sebastian slid out of the bed, putting on his own shirt discarded on the floor. "Breakfast will be ready in five minutes." He trudged out of the room.

Dave went into the master bath and splashed water onto his face. God, what was that all about?

No, wait. He knew. And even though he knew, he was close... Fuck, he was _so_ close to...

 _"... And of course they're used for sex all the time." Jack shook his head in disgust. "That's why slavery is so evil, little brother: it robs people of_ choice _. Even if somehow the slave thought she wanted to have sex with her master, how can you get past the power relationship? It's the same reason why we don't let teachers date their students. A master having sex with a slave is_ rape _..."_

Dave barely made it to the toilet before he started throwing up what little was in his stomach.


	5. Honesty and Ham Sandwiches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I think I figured out that pesky middle sequence. Hopefully the events hang together the way I want.

Dave had his sandwich (ham, dijon mustard, mayo, and romaine, cut diagonally; it still felt kind of "fancy" to him, maybe because Sebastian had made it) halfway to his mouth when he saw, over the expanse of white bread, Sebastian sitting across the table from him. This in of itself was unusual; despite Dave's attempts to dissuade him, he usually stood right next to him, practically at attention, so he'd be ready for any sudden orders from Dave. Then there was the somewhat constipated look on Sebastian's face; he was usually so... what was a good word? Unflappable? At least when he wasn't being a sarcastic SOB.

Dave lowered the sandwich, putting it back on the plate. He then gently pushed aside the open textbook in front of him on the table; Sebastian watched all this without the slightest change in affect.

"Yes?" Dave said.

Sebastian coughed; a somewhat nervous look came over him, which in turn unnerved Dave a bit. It seemed so... _foreign_ on him, clashing with Dave's memories of the snarky, stoic, quietly brave (for what slave without courage would act the way he did?) Sebastian. "I humbly request permission to speak—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, dude, you know what I'm going to say. Just go ahead."

"Okay, fine." Sebastian sucked in a breath. "Why are you like this?"

Dave raised an eyebrow. "Why am I like what...?"

"Why the hell do you treat me so well?"

"I told you, I'm an abolitionist..."

"No," Sebastian cut in. "No! I've met dozens of abolitionists. Some of them were even sincere in their beliefs. But _none_ of them ever treated me like you do."

"Like what? A human being?"

" _Yes_!" Sebastian exploded. "At best, I got pity, like I was some overbred puppy or a veal calf in a three square foot pen! But you... you try to _connect_ , you..." He trailed off, shaking his head a touch violently. "You're not like anyone I've ever met, even before I was a slave, and I have to know why."

Dave sighed, leaning back in his chair. Just the asking of the question brought back all kinds of memories he'd shoved into the back of his mind, memories with the distinct bitterness of regret. He rubbed at his face with one open hand. "I don't suppose you'll just take 'it's the way I was raised' as an answer, will you?"

Sebastian shrugged. "I already figured that. Anyone in Master Murray's family who's like you has to have had a pretty intense upbringing to counter all the—" He shook his head. "But it's more than that. It has to be. Just tell me the truth? Please?"

Dave's mom always called that "the magic word," which made even six year old Dave snort. But this time... somehow... at this time, with this person... It almost _was_ magical. It was the key that unlocked a rush of images and emotions that almost staggered him. He swallowed, taking a second to regain his bearings. "I..." he began. He had to take another moment. Sebastian just sat there, waiting patiently for him to begin again. "I was in love once."

"Oh. Shit." Sebastian's eyes widened; the implications obviously weren't lost on him.

Dave clenched his hands in front of him on the table. "His name was Kurt. He was owned by one of my high school classmates. I think she got him the same way I got you: from some old money branch of the family. But Kurt had been with her since they were little; they practically grew up together, so she treated him a lot more like a friend than as a personal slave. I know some adults didn't like that, but she was his owner, so what could they do?

"Look, you gotta understand that was a... rough time for me. I was trying to deal with being gay, and doing a really lousy job at it. I'd just about finished building up all kinds of walls of denial when I first started... seeing him. Not dating, I mean _really_ seeing him. I'd met him before, and I didn't think much about him, especially since he was a slave, but I actually began paying attention..."

Dave's trembling hand fumbled for his glass of Coke. He drank, the ice moistening his upper lip. Sebastian waited patiently as he put down the half-empty glass and continued.

"I was really confused at first. I wasn't sure why I was thinking about him so much, going out of my way to pass by him in the halls. See, Kurt was kind of... swishy, I guess. He had a high voice, he kind of walked girly, the whole nine yards. Since he was a slave, no one really liked or respected him... But for the same reason, we weren't able to do much to him; his owner's parents could've sued us for damage to property or whatever." Dave's lip curled in distaste. "If it weren't for that... I can't say that I wouldn't have been pretty rotten to him..."

"Seriously?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "A pussycat like you?"

Dave snorted. "I told you, I was in the closet, and handling it really badly. I was so scared of what I was, I would've — could've — done anything." His face darkened. "It's not something I'm particularly proud of."

"I still can't imagine that."

"Well, thanks." The shadow of a smile crept over Dave's face. "But anyway, without that outlet, I think I kind of went a little nuts... Though fortunately it was mostly inside. I tried avoiding him for a while, but it seemed like he was fucking _everywhere_. His owner even managed to get him into the school glee club with her. I think she was only able to do that because nobody really cared about the glee club. It was like he was shoving himself into my face practically every day, only he had no idea he was doing it.

"Eventually, I think I realized what was going on. I was jealous, for one."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Of a slave?"

"Of another person. Because despite him being a slave, he was so... strong. I mean, he was kind of scrawny, but I mean inside. Even though he couldn't show it often, I could see it in his eyes."

"See what?" Sebastian asked quietly.

"His inner strength. His pride, the way he carried himself, even if he wasn't free. Here I was, a freeman, a popular jock, and I wasn't half the man this little skinny slave was. Where I was scared, he was brave. Where I was hiding myself, he was out there. Hell, in a way, _I_ was the enslaved one. Sometimes I think I would've rather been in chains than have to live with that fear inside my gut every... single... fucking... day..."

"Believe me, the chains ain't much fun either." Sebastian waited as Dave swirled around in whatever memories were flashing through his mind. After a minute, he broke the silence. "You were jealous, for one...?"

"What? Oh, right. For another... He was so beautiful... God, he wasn't like any guy I'd ever seen. I'm pretty sure he was gay too, although he had enough trouble being a slave without being gay in public. It was just the way he acted..."

"Stereotyping now, are we?" Sebastian said with a smirk.

Dave shrugged. "It doesn't really matter either way. It didn't change how I felt about him. After stewing in my own juices for a while, I finally managed to acknowledge what it was I was feeling... and why."

"How'd that happen?"

"I saw him dying." Dave heard Sebastian's sharp intake of breath. "Not literally. But it was sometime late junior year when I noticed it. Kurt's inner strength, his pride... It was dying. Not by much, but it was obvious every time I looked into his eyes."

"You spent _that_ much time looking into a slave's eyes?"

Dave chuckled. "That's how I knew it was love. Anyway, I figured that it was just inevitable, you know? Being a slave, never having the prospect of being anything like his pride told him he should be... It took its toll. Every time I saw Kurt sigh a little more, slouch a little more... It killed me, the way it was killing him, especially when I knew that it was assholes like me that was a prime cause. And I saw it get worse and worse every day... I wanted so bad to build him up, comfort him, tell him it would be okay... But I knew I never could. Not only because I was a coward, but because we'd both know that it'd be a lie." He sighed. "My dad and brother were hardcore abolitionists for years, but that was when I really threw myself into 'the cause.' Because I swore to myself I'd never let anyone get beaten down the way Kurt did.

"I owe him a lot, you know. Not only because he drove home that slaves are human, but because... well, I came out because of him. I don't know how long I would've stayed in the closet if it wasn't for him." Dave shrugged, a consciously casual gesture. "So that's it. That's why. It's not particularly neat or happy, but it's the truth."

"So..." Sebastian began, the hesitance catching in his throat, "what happened to Kurt?"

Dave shook his head. "I don't know. I still look up his owner, my old classmate, on Facebook and stuff, but she never really talks about him, and I know how it'd look if I asked. I know she hasn't sold him or anything, though, so at least he's safe... Even if he's not happy."

"So the you of today was created out of misplaced guilt and a gay high school crush."

Dave snorted, a good natured grin on his face. "Well, fine, it sounds kind of sad when you put it _that_ way..."

"Hey, it's a lot more than most people realize about themselves. I say, if that's what it takes to get your head out of your asshole, more power to you."

"Was that a compliment?"

"We slaves are nothing if not ego boosters for our masters."

The smile dropped off Dave's face. "Well, it fucking sucks."

"Tell me about it."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For Grandpa Murray. For this whole fucking situation."

"It is what it is. I learned a long time ago that thinking about how things could be different not only drives you nuts, but doesn't do you any good."

"So that's it? You don't have any hope?"

"Hope? For what?"

"Uh, I dunno, freedom, maybe?"

Sebastian smiled a smile that was tight and insincere. "You know as well as I do there are laws that'll keep me from ever being free. And I have to thank you abolitionists for that. If it weren't for all of you buying up slaves just to free them a hundred years ago, maybe I'd have a chance."

"That..."

Sebastian winced, looking away. "It's fine." He rose, his face impassive again. "If there's nothing else, I'll need to continue cleaning now before it's time for me to start dinner. And don't you have a class to get to?"

Dave glanced at his watch. "Shit!" He leaped up, holding the remainder of his sandwich in his mouth so he could have both hands free to sweep his books into his backpack. "Uhl he ho hay..." He grimaced, yanking the sandwich out of his mouth once his backpack was zipped up. "I'll be home late tonight! Frat meeting."

"Fine, fine! Just go!" As the door slammed behind his master, Sebastian shook his head, smiling. The smile was quickly replaced by a frown. "Get a grip, Smythe," he muttered, nearly slapping himself to keep the smile from returning.

This was bad. This was very bad. He couldn't get like this. _Why_ was he getting like this?

Of course, he knew the answer. Like an abused puppy who'd been whipped one too many times, he was just latching onto the first warm body who showed him a modicum of kindness. That was all it was.

If he was going to get what he wanted, it was obvious he'd have to take his game up a notch, take more extreme measures. It might hurt Dave, but...

He shook his head to chase away the chasm that opened in his gut at the thought. _It'll be worth it in the end_ , he thought. _Everything will be worth it in the end._

_It has to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: Why the heck does the story get bumped when the new chapter is saved as a draft? No wonder I'd see a story I liked at the top of the search, only to be disappointed when I saw there was no actual chapter attached to it.
> 
> Might as well post this, despite the late hour, then! Hope you liked!


	6. Party Hearty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, I know. That's what you get for having so many balls in the air.
> 
> Now that I've finished this chapter, it's time to finish the next chapter of this OTHER unfinished 'fic I'm writing. Then after that, the next chapter of a THIRD, and so on. At least I have everything for all my WIPs planned out.
> 
> And barring something like coma or outright death, I *do* finish 'fics, so don't fear. :)

Looking back on it much later, Dave would recognize that night as a turning point. At the time, it was annoying, and exasperating as all hell, but that was when everything started to... what? "Fall apart" wasn't exactly right, but it was pretty damn close. It was the little _push_ that started the go-kart rolling down the hill, picking up speed until the whole world was whizzing by in a chaotic streak of color, the bottom coming closer and closer...

And all the while, your hands were gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles were white, and you were praying, _praying_ , that you wouldn't crash into anything.

Really, though, it was all Dave's fault. He knew that, no matter how much Sebastian insisted otherwise. After all, he was the one in the fraternity. He was the one who called those morons his friends. And sure, they weren't _bad_ guys by any means, but they were... Well, frat guys. "And so were you," Sebastian would always point out with a grin. And fine, that was true, but still, that only meant he should've known better. "Takes one to know one" and all.

Not that he was a typical member of the frat by a long shot. He'd considered joining a gay fraternity, but it felt too much like he was categorizing himself before he even got a chance to define himself. So he decided to leave the gay frats as a backup plan, and join a general one instead.

He was honest from the beginning of the process about his sexuality. But, to his mild shock and more intense joy, no one — not one existing member or fellow pledge who wasn't already an obvious and hopeless asshole — seemed to care, except when the guys in charge of initiation would make some sarcastic remark in an attempt to break his will or concentration. He played wingman with the best of them, deliberately gave bad fashion advice whenever he was asked, appreciatively hooted whenever one of them got it into their heads to flash their bodies at the gay guy to prove how hot they were (sometimes even when they were sober), and even got introduced to one or two guys. It was the kind of acceptance that he craved, that he once thought he had, and that he now _truly_ had. It was... eye-opening to say the least.

Still, he was under no illusions that they were somehow better than the average college student. A few were, but most were just average guys, which meant a lot of random belching and farting, a lot of drinking and waking up with hangovers, and a lot of dumbass macho stuff for no real good reason. But that was part of their charm, really. He was used to guys like them from his high school sporting days. Hell, he even liked the type sometimes. They were his people.

In particular, he liked Jared Sanders. Another member of his pledge class, Jared was friendly, gregarious, funny, and intensely hot. He was a little too humble for his own good, but never shy about helping others. He was also, unfortunately, straight, but always took Dave's sexuality for granted, because really, why did it need to be an elephant in the room at all? The guy was easy to be around, and a good friend.

So when the concierge called one chilly winter evening and told him that Jared was in the lobby, Dave wasn't at all surprised or suspicious. In fact, he'd been trying to get Jared to visit and check out his new pad for weeks.

"Hey, Dave." Jared's voice sounded odd, a little garbled, even though the phone connection seemed crystal clear. "Mind if I take you up on that offer of a tour? I'm as bored as fuck, and..."

"Hell, yeah! Come on up! I'd be happy to give you the ten dollar tour. After, maybe we can watch a movie or something."

"Yeah. Or something. Um, I'm on my way, then."

"Sure. Just take the last elevator on the right. See you in a few." Dave put down the phone excitedly. "Hey, Sebastian! We're having a guest!"

"I heard. And it's more like _you_ _'re_ having a guest." Dave wasn't sure what to make of the matter-of-fact tone.

"Okay, fine. But you don't have to do anything for him tonight if you don't want to." Dave had accidentally let slip about Sebastian one afternoon, resulting in an avalanche of questions from fascinated frat brothers who'd only ever seen slaves in farming towns or accompanying the rich and powerful. Some of the questions were natural and thoughtful; others... were not. But Dave answered most of them gamely, and then cut off any further questioning. To his surprise, his wish was mostly respected.

"If I don't want to?" Sebastian drawled. "Not exactly my place to decide, is it?"

There was a knock on the door; Dave sighed. "We'll talk about this later, okay? Jared's a cool guy; I'm sure you'll have nothing to do anyway. Coming!" Dave pulled the front door open; Jared was indeed on the other side, his hands in his pockets, his eyes towards the floor. "Hey, Jar—" Then he noticed what was behind him.

The crowd. At least a dozen of his fraternity brothers, carrying twelve packs and kegs, accompanied by a healthy smattering of girlfriends bearing grocery bags full of what looked like chips and salsa.

"Dude..." Jared muttered. "I am _so_ sorry."

"PARTY!" yelled a voice Dave recognized as Ray Beckett. The roar that answered drowned out any further words he might've had as the rest of them surged inside, flowing around him like rapids.

"They made me," Jared continued miserably, as if he wasn't currently surrounded by what had to be some twenty to thirty partygoers. The music started up, drowning out the cries of "sweet pad" and "this is fucking awesome!" with pulsing bass.

Dave looked around wildly; people were already getting comfortable on his couch, rifling through his fridge, poking their heads into his bedroom. Sebastian was standing off to one side, an expression on his face somewhere between horror and amusement. He felt his fists clench, an anger rising in him that he hadn't felt in years. He might've felt uncomfortable with the rush if it hadn't been so very justified.

"What the FUCK?!" he roared. But he was barely heard, mostly drowned out by the music and chatter.

"Aw, come on," Ray said, slapping Dave's shoulder. "All your talk about your sweet pad..."

"Because you keep asking me about it!"

"... So we had to see it for ourselves! Besides, we haven't seen you at a frat party in fucking ages!"

"I've... I've been busy... But you guys come over, make Jared trick me into letting you in... How did you all get past security, anyway?"

"We said we were friends of yours. And we are friends, right?" Ray continued before Dave could make the obvious remark on the tip of his tongue. "So once you let Jared up, the rest of us were able to say we were with him." He chuckled, swigging his beer, apparently heedless (or uncaring) of the glower on Dave's face. "We're brothers, right? We share and share alike? You've been holding out on us, dude!" He finally seemed to halfway notice Dave's displeasure at this point. "Aw, come on, Dave. It's a _party_! It's _fun_! Come on, join us, cut loose!"

With that, he rejoined his bellowing friends as they turned on ESPN on the flatscreen TV. Dave's mind was whirling; which impulse did he want to give into first? Scream? Throw Ray over the balcony railing? Call Ernie Garver, the fraternity president, and get all these yahoos kicked out of the frat for this?

_Kicked out... That's a good idea._

"Everybody out!" he shouted. "Everybody out NOW!" He pulled open the door in emphasis. No one heard or paid attention to him over the music, booze, and chaos.

He was just about starting to consider weapons of some kind (to wave around — seriously), but then... "Attention! Attention, everybody!" Dave whirled at the voice, stunned. First, he was stunned that Sebastian was actually speaking up to these strangers, without so much as an order from him, and not keeping to the background like a servant. Second, he was stunned because everyone actually stopped what they were doing and listened to him, despite his voice being half of Dave's volume. Third, he was stunned because he had absolutely no idea what Sebastian was doing. He'd had no input. Sebastian was doing something entirely on his own.

"Hey, you're Dave's slave, aren't you?" one of them piped up.

"Oooh, you're the slave?" one of the girlfriends squealed. "That means we get to order you around, right?"

Dave opened his mouth to yell at the bimbo, but Sebastian just chuckled, putting on a charming smile that seemed somehow foreign on his face, so used he was to deference and gentle mockery. Yet he could see from the staring guys and the practically drooling women that he had them hooked. A few words and a smile and everyone in the room, who'd met him only minutes before, were hooked. It was incredible.

"To a point. And only if Master David lets me. But if you're all his... guests..." He shot a glance, just the barest flicker of eyes, towards Dave, but he got the message, and resisted the urge to burst out in anger at this. Sebastian was thinking something. He had no idea what, but there was _something_ going on, and Dave was curious. "... Then my duty is to make sure you're all comfortable." He waved a hand at the coffee table, covered with bags of chips and open jars of salsa. "Perhaps I could make some spaghetti? It'd keep everyone better fed than just snack food."

Charlie McMillan whooped. "Holy shit, this guy is _awesome_!"

"Yeah, we _definitely_ want that!" one of the girls chimed in.

Sebastian gave a small bow at the waist. "Then please, continue by all means. I'll let everyone know when it's ready."

The gathered college students cheered and returned to playing Dave's Xbox or dancing (or doing something in the guest room that Dave did _not_ want to think about). As Sebastian retreated into the kitchen, Dave fell alongside him. "I was this close to calling the cops," he said quietly.

"I know," Sebastian replied, and didn't _that_ have implications that Dave was too angry and flustered to think too hard about. "It's called being a good slave," he continued, as if knowing what Dave was thinking. "You won't survive unless you anticipate your master's needs. And calling the police, or losing your temper with them, might have just made things worse at your frat. I don't mind humoring them for a little while. Once they get good and drunk, they may be more pliant. At least, it would help get them to leave without too much damage to your belongings."

There was a lot wrong with Sebastian's logic as he presented it, and Dave was about to tell him so and start throwing people out by their shirts. But he stopped short — something about Sebastian, something in his eyes... A light dancing there that he'd never seen before. It was something mischievous, something _alive_... Moreover, it was a message of some kind. What exactly it was, Dave couldn't tell, but it was enough to give him pause.

"Okay," he finally said. Sebastian's small, almost unnoticable grin told Dave he was making the right decision.

* * *

Almost six hours later, Dave was starting to wonder if he'd made the wrong decision. His "guests" still hadn't left (except for Jared, who'd muttered more apologies and slunk out in shame about an hour after the "party" got going), and were just getting more raucous the more they drank. They hadn't smashed or permanently stained anything yet; Sebastian was sweating just running around putting out fires (in one case, literally). Still, Dave knew these people; there was a reason he decided not to room at the frat house. Besides, he'd just kicked an empty beer bottle across the floor that rolled right into a small pile of fellow bottles, like drunk bowling. How far was it from that kind of state to _Animal House_ type destruction? He'd already had to actually lock the door to his bedroom to make sure his bed wasn't used for... Oh, fuck was he tired.

Could you get "contact drunk," like a contact high? He hadn't in any of the few frat parties he'd attended, but considering how lightheaded he was feeling, he was starting to wonder.

The party was teetering between loud and languid; periods of relative peace where the guys were busy making out with the girls or stuffing tortilla chips into their face were punctuated by explosions of sound, usually cheers, laughter at someone tripping over their own feet, or the good old fashioned "CHUG!"

"Hey, guys!" Sebastian stepped amongst them with a languid smile. He'd made fast friends of them all, supplying them with food and endless flows of booze (though unlike Dave, they were too drunk to notice that he only ever served them their own beer), so when he spoke, even that one brunette chick who was draped over Dave's favorite chair looked up. "The party's almost over..."

This was met with boos and catcalls. "C'mon! We're just gettin' started!" one of the frat bros (Lance Watson?) protested in a shaky voice. Dave seethed. _If they fucking vomit, I swear to fucking God they're going to lick it off the fucking floors..._

"Ah," Sebastian said, his grin not slipping a millimeter, "but then you wouldn't get my _very_ special end-of-party drink."

The word perked up their ears. They'd all been loudly ( _very_ loudly) approving of Sebastian's cooking ("Best fucking spaghetti I've ever had! Better than Olive Garden!"), so the prospect of him making them drinks was especially appealing.

"It's got booze in it, doesn't it?" one of the girls asked.

"Of course! In fact, I'll make it with Dave's _private_ stash."

Here Dave frowned. The kitchen had come fully stocked with a wide variety of expensive liquors and mixers, but he hadn't touched a single bottle of any of it. So why was Sebastian calling it _his_ stash? Could it have something to do with the way the group got even more interested?

"Well, whaddya waiting for?" Ray cried. "Hook a brother up!"

Sebastian bowed again as the others cheered their approval. Dave followed him into the kitchen; in the seconds it took, Sebastian was already grabbing bottles and glasses with the smooth, clinical efficiency of a nurse preparing for a major operation.

"Sebastian?" Dave started tentatively as he watched the slave get out several multicolored bottles and a bucket of ice.

"If I may make a request, Master David..." he began, his focus still on his work as he opened a fine scotch.

"Yes?"

"I would like a little privacy? Mixology is a very complicated task, and it requires a lot of concentration."

Dave's forehead furrowed. If the bartenders he'd seen at any crowded, noisy, smoky bar were any indication, Sebastian was exaggerating a little. Again, he seemed to have his reasons, so the only question was, what would he _do_ with that guess?

Sebastian looked up at him, an eyebrow cocked in question. "I would really appreciate it, sir."

"I keep telling you, don't call me that." Dave shrugged and sighed. "Whatever. I need to make sure those idiots don't throw a controller into my TV anyway." He turned on his heel and waded back into the chaos.

About fifteen booze-soaked minutes later, Sebastian emerged, bearing a tray filled with small glasses filled with a clear brownish liquid garnished with what looked like lime wedges. The room fell silent; even Dave, who'd been desperately trying to calm a brewing fight between two of his brothers over whose turn it was to make out with some chick named Felicity, turned.

"Here it is, ladies and gentlemen, the best cocktail any of you have _ever_ tasted, guaranteed." He paused dramatically. "My only request: as I said, this is my special end-of-party drink. That means once you get your hands on these glasses, the party is over. You all have to go. But David will make sure you all get back to the frat house safely." Sebastian got that wicked grin (the one that Dave kind of liked, and sort of wished he saw more often) again. "And you'll need it, because not only does this taste like heaven, but it'll give you a buzz like you won't believe."

That seemed to tear it. As one, the group rose, and snatched the glasses from the tray. There were enough for three for each partygoer, and by the end of it, the guys were slapping Sebastian on the back like an old buddy, and the girls were fawning over him (a couple even fondling him, which he took with a sort of weird grace).

"Holy shit, Sebastian, you were right. That was _awesome_!"

"I feel, like, better already!"

"What the fuck was in that? I gotta know! C'mon, you can tell us! Please?"

Sebastian shook his head. "Sorry, but it's an old secret recipe I picked up. Now, you've had your end-of-party drink, so that means it's the end of the party. Now scoot." There was some groaning and some grumbling, but to Dave's surprise, the group actually complied. They picked up their jackets and MP3 players and shuffled out the door (obviously leaving behind the empty beer cans and empty chip bags). One by one, they teetered out the door, until it clicked shut behind the last person, and the apartment was cloaked in an almost startling silence. Calmly, Sebastian went to the phone.

"Mr. Peterson? This is Mr. Karofsky's apartment. Yes, his friends are leaving now. Are the taxis Mr. Karofsky requested there? Good. Make sure they're taken directly to the fraternity row at OSU." Dave didn't remember asking for any taxis; for them to be there right that second would have to have taken split second timing... timing only Sebastian could've arranged. Did that mean...? What did it mean? "And Mr. Karofsky would like to request that all future visits be cleared with him personally and directly for each visitor from now on. No no, nothing serious. Just a few more guests than he was expecting. Very good. Thank you." He hung up and quietly began picking up discarded trash. Dave knelt down to pick up an empty Heineken bottle. "What are you doing?" Sebastian asked with an almost angry edge.

"Uh... Cleaning up?"

"That is _my_ duty... sir."

"Well, it's my apartment. And I'm going to do this whether you want me to or not."

"You still don't..." He sighed. "Fine. But I'm handling the slimy stuff."

"Ugh, be my guest." There was silence then, broken only by shuffling feet and clinking glass. "So what was the deal?"

"The deal? I was trying to accommodate your friends."

"Don't lie to me, Sebastian. There was something else going on. I could tell. So spill. What did you do? Put something in their drinks?" Dave looked up with a half smile, only to meet Sebastian's wide and stunned eyes. "Holy shit, you did put something into their drinks, didn't you?" More silence. "Sebastian, what the hell did you do to their drinks?!"

"I... It was an old secret recipe!" the slave gasped, although the speed with which his words flew together told Dave that he was on the edge of babbling. "It really was! Only..."

"Only...?" Dave prompted.

"Only not for a drink. I mean, the drink's fucking good, don't get me wrong, but I learned it bartending for your grandfather last year. It was a recipe for a mild... laxative."

"Laxative...?" Dave gasped.

"Yeah. One of my aunts was a big believer in home remedies, and that was one of the ones she taught me. It won't kick in for another hour or so, but when it does, they'll be, uh, stuck to the toilet for a while." Sebastian shrugged. "So yes, I basically poisoned your friends."

"Sebastian... That's... that's kind of fucked up, and wrong..." The other nodded silently, his head bowed, as Dave continued. "And... and fucking _hilarious_!" Sebastian's face snapped up in shock as Dave nearly bent over double laughing. It took a good few minutes for his master to recover enough to speak again. "Holy shit, I wish I could be there to see it... But it's probably lucky I'm not. The smell will probably be fucking awful..."

"Y-you mean... you don't mind?"

"Well, like I said, it _was_ wrong... But I'm a vengeful son of a bitch, so I say they fucking deserved it. Just... don't keep me in the dark again, okay? I'd have liked to be prepared in case they figure it out and go after me..."

"With the amount they were drinking, I doubt they'll remember most of tonight, let alone figure out that they were deliberately— You _really_ don't mind?"

"Like I said, they deserved it."

"That's not the point—!"

Dave frowned. "Then what _is_ the point?"

Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but his mind and eyes absorbed the puzzled expression on Dave's face. _My God... he really_ is _clueless..._ He sighed. "Nothing. I'm just... tired."

"So am I." Dave stretched, his belly briefly exposed by the riding up of his shirt. Sebastian tried not to stare. "You get to bed. We can take care of this tomorrow."

Sebastian was about to protest the "we," but it wasn't his place to argue with his master. "Yes, sir. Would you like me to turn down the bed and—"

"No, I can do it myself." The question and answer was a nightly occurrence, with little or no variation night to night. "Man, I'm gonna sleep good tonight. A little swift kick in the ass from _justice_ always does. Good work, dude." He slapped Sebastian on the shoulder like an old buddy. "Good night."

Sebastian waited until Dave closed the bedroom door to kick the half-full garbage bag of bottles in frustration.

His slave — his _slave_ — went behind his back, actually took fucking _initiative_ , and _attacked_ his peers, freemen all, and all he had in response was laughter and a "good work, dude"? Sebastian's hands balled into fists. Obviously, this "dipping his toe" into this whole scheme was the wrong approach.

He was really going to have to push the envelope next time.


	7. Discipline

"Family is the most important thing there is, David." It was one of Grandpa Murray's favorite mottoes. Every time Dave ever heard anyone say anything remotely similar, their words were overlaid with Grandpa Murray's wire-scratchy, yet surprisingly deep, voice.

And for all Grandpa Murray's... unpleasant beliefs, he genuinely believed in this maxim. He always treated Dave and Jack with kindness and affection, even as he barked harsh orders to his slaves. He gave generously on their birthdays, even as he kept "unnecessary business expenses" (which included actual people) to its absolute minimum. He treated Paul Karofsky, the troublesome son-in-law, with the utmost respect to his face, even as everyone knew that he muttered and insulted behind his back (though never when anyone could hear him). It took Dave years to realize why his father didn't seem to like visiting Grandpa Murray's lush rural estate, and why Jack always seemed to be so argumentative with him. It was one of those "cold water in the face" moments, and one of the most unpleasant kinds — the realization that someone you liked and respected for genuine reasons was also an utter bastard.

Still, the importance of family was a lesson that stuck with Dave. This fact was key to his decision to let his Aunt Margaret stay at his apartment during her visit to Columbus. Aunt Margaret was from the Patton side of the family, as steeped in old money as the rest of them. But unlike Dave's Patton cousins — who were all spoiled, arrogant, socially conservative brats — and his other uncles and aunts, who were a little unpleasant at best and mirror images of their kids at worst, Aunt Margaret was soft spoken and low key. Dowdy, greying, and usually bedecked in muted floral patterns, she was the stereotypical demure Southern lady — born and raised in New England. She was middle aged and unmarried (which caused whispers amongst her siblings), but was never a drain on the Patton wealth, which made her one of her father's favorites. She was content to live in a small cottage (literally a cottage — Dave saw it once; it was like something out of a goddamn fairy tale or a Better Homes and Gardens magazine) in Vermont, puttering about in her garden and living frugally on her allowance from the family trusts.

Now she was visiting the big city, exhibiting some of her prize dahlias at a major flower and garden show, and Dave was providing the guest bedroom. He tentatively told Sebastian about this a week prior, which got a raised eyebrow.

"Miss Margaret? Been a couple of years since I've seen her."

"Yeah. Look, I know this is going to be kind of uncomfortable..."

"For you? Then don't invite her. If you meant for me, what I want doesn't matter."

Dave swallowed back the words that came into mind. This was an old argument, and not the time to rehash it; he had a class in twenty minutes. "I just want to make sure that she has a good visit. I know you probably have a lot of bad memories involving her..."

"Actually, Miss Margaret always treated me pretty well," Sebastian said with a shrug. "She and Ms. Diane were about the only two members of the family who never ordered me around like I was their slave and not Master Murray's."

Dave froze at the mention of his mother. The possibility that his own mom had "ordered Sebastian around" hadn't even occurred to him. Fortunately, for all her conservatism, Diane Patton Karofsky did have one redeeming trait: she was vociferously opposed to slavery on Biblical grounds, thus her marriage to an abolitionist. Her beliefs were tolerated by her family (as the baby of the clan, it was thought "cute"), but she was never overly enthusiastic about returning to the Patton homestead and seeing "the oppressed" wandering about and serving her dinner. _Too bad she couldn't have felt the same way about me being gay._

Dave rubbed his eyes. That was a whole other kettle of fish that he simply didn't have the time or energy for. "I just wanted to warn you..."

"Which you didn't have to..."

"Then think of it as me making sure you're going to serve my aunt with the respect she deserves," Dave said with a sigh.

"Don't I always?" The grin was entirely too innocent to be innocent.

Dave coughed. "Frat party? They still haven't figured it out, by the way; I assume that's why you waited until they were all plastered."

"Didn't occur to me." And that was a blatant lie told to a master's face by a slave, but Dave let it slide. He was going to be late for class anyway.

"We'll talk about this later," Dave said as he swept up his books and Sebastian wordlessly handed him a coat. "She'll be here next Wednesday. We'll figure things out then." He hurried out of the apartment without another word.

"We sure will..." Sebastian said thoughtfully to the closed door.

* * *

Unlike most of Dave's visitors, Aunt Margaret entered the apartment without gasps of awe or wide eyes. She simply looked around coolly and said, "Lovely home, David. I'm glad you're taking the time to keep the place tidy. So few young people do these days." This, after all, was a woman who was not given to strong emotion... and who'd grown up in far more luxurious settings than this.

"Thanks, Aunt Margaret," Dave replied quietly as he watched Sebastian enter with her luggage. Dave had begun to help him, especially since Aunt Margaret had also personally brought her exhibition plants instead of shipping them, but Sebastian merely raised an eyebrow. That stopped Dave cold, which gave him vague feelings of guilt.

"I'll bring up the plants now, Miss Margaret," Sebastian announced as he gently placed the last of the bags on the coffee table.

"Thank you, Sebastian." She settled onto the leather sofa as Sebastian gently closed the apartment door behind him. "I hope he's serving you well," she said.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. He's fine."

"He was one of Papa's favorite slaves, you know," she continued as she drew some half-finished knitting from her voluminous purse. "Always paid special attention to his well-being. Papa was always generous that way."

"Yeah. Sure." He hadn't meant to let so much cynical skepticism into his voice; it was just... there.

Aunt Margaret must have heard it too, for she clucked her tongue. "Now, David, don't be so ungrateful. Papa giving Sebastian to you just shows how much he cared about you."

"But not about Sebastian." Oh, god, all sorts of truths he hadn't wanted to say were just spilling out. What the fuck was wrong with his internal censor?

"Weren't you paying attention to what I just said?" she replied with only a mildly reproving tone. "Papa wasn't a monster." She began knitting, her needles clicking softly in the quiet. "I know I always tell you to listen to your elders, but really, your parents..." She sighed, shaking her head and tsk-ing again. "Abolitionism! Such nonsense! What happened to respect for tradition?"

 _What happened to all men created equal?_ Dave wanted to say. But he didn't. His mom always said he'd inherited the Patton stubbornness.

"Ignoring our proud history has gotten this country into quite a lot of trouble," Aunt Margaret continued, her words not nearly as strong as her hands as she manipulated her brightly colored yarn. "What's the phrase? 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it'? Horrible grammar, but it's quite true."

"Oh, I agree." Dave whirled around to see Sebastian entering, pushing a large crate on a dolly. "No sense trying to change what can't be changed."

Aunt Margaret smiled fondly. "You always were so sensible, Sebastian," she said.

"Thank you, Miss Margaret. Oh! You'll be pleased to know that I've prepared chicken parmesan for dinner tonight."

Aunt Margaret beamed. "My favorite! You remembered!"

"I could never forget you, Miss Margaret," Sebastian said with what was a supercilious grin even for him. But Aunt Margaret didn't seem to notice.

Seeing Sebastian and Aunt Margaret interact was sort of a surreal experience for Dave. It was so easy to forget that they were part of the same world, especially when, for him, those two worlds had never even intersected before. He'd been trying to remember if he'd ever seen Sebastian before ever since the day they first met, but his memory kept coming up empty. Visits to Grandpa Murray's estate were rare, and his staff was so large that it wasn't a surprise that Dave couldn't remember running into one particular slave. But the very thought of Sebastian working his fingers to the bone in Grandpa Murray's stables or wine cellar while he was sleeping off a food coma after Grandma Pat insisted he have another slice of prime rib because "a growing boy needs his protein"...

Nausea bubbled deep in Dave's gut; he rubbed his belly absently in an attempt to quiet it. _Think about practical stuff..._ "So, uh, Aunt Margaret... You sure you'll be okay while I'm at class?"

"Of course I will, David! I'm not an old lady quite _yet_! Besides, I still need to put the finishing touches on my arrangement for the show, so I'll certainly be able to keep myself busy while you're at school. Education is very important, you know. Papa always believed that — that's how he became the man he was." She cocked her head, her needles pausing for a moment. "I do wish you'd accepted his offer to attend Princeton. You have such a head for numbers; I'm sure you would've fit right into their mathematics department."

Dave saw Sebastian raise an eyebrow; he pointedly ignored it. "I wouldn't have gotten into Princeton," he rumbled quietly.

"Papa would have—"

"I know he would have, but I wanted to get into a college on my own merits. So I wouldn't have to be afraid of falling behind all the time." And because even the thought of going to college because he was the grandson of Murray Patton chilled him to the core, for a number of reasons.

"You wouldn't have," Aunt Margaret said with a gentle smile. She held up her knitting. "My, this scarf is coming along nicely, don't you think?"

Dave nodded politely. "It's lovely."

"Tightly knit; every bit of yarn carefully woven into place. Much more complicated than you would think. But pick at it just a little in the wrong place... Why, the whole thing would unravel! And who would benefit from that?"

She returned to her work, heedless of the frown on Dave's face. It didn't take a genius to get the metaphor; weird, how she picked up that line of conversation again like that. Then again, Patton stubbornness.

He glanced at Sebastian, who'd returned to his chores. Other than that eyebrow raise, he hadn't seemed to react to the conversation at all... But experience had taught him that appearances were definitely deceiving, even — especially? — with Sebastian.

The fact that he knew _one_ thing that was running through the slave's head didn't mean he knew _everything_ , even if that _one_ thing was really important. Problem was, it just made him more conscious of how little he knew about how Sebastian was approaching that _one_ thing... And quite frankly, it scared him.

"David?" Dave jumped at his name. "Are you paying attention, young man?"

"I can assure you he is, Miss Margaret. He would never ignore a beloved relative like you." Sebastian said this with a completely straight face and tone, but Dave picked up on that twinkle in his eye... damn him.

Aunt Margaret gave Sebastian a funny look before shaking her head. "David always did have his head in the clouds, even when he was a little boy. David the Dreamer, I'd call him."

"Very appropriate," Sebastian said quietly. Dave ached to know what Sebastian was thinking in that moment, but it, like all moments, came and went.

* * *

Thursdays were Dave's worst day for classes, especially since he was still stuck with general education prerequisites to fill before he could concentrate fully on his actual interests. And on Thursday, the hits just kept on coming, one after the other, with barely twenty minutes to grab a hurried lunch at an overcrowded cafeteria or convenience store before rushing off to a two hour lecture.

So late Thursday afternoons always marked a rather relieving return home, suffused with triumph over another stuffed day conquered. He burst into the apartment, tossing his coat onto the chair next to the door.

"David!" Aunt Margaret's voice hit him in the face like a steel I-beam. "Really, young man! Are you fresh from the zoo? Hang that up properly in the closet!"

Dave grinned sheepishly as he obeyed. "Sorry." As he gently shut the closet door, his instincts — a buzzing sense of _wrongness_ — tickled at his mind. But what? Everything seemed normal, if a little quiet...

Quiet. That was it. No vacuuming, no frying, no low grunts of effort...

"Aunt Margaret, where's Sebastian?"

"Oh, he's chained up in his quarters."

Dave felt like his jaw literally dropped. He stared at his aunt, who remained in her chair, casually reading the front page of the Columbus Dispatch as if she were talking about a willful pet.

Then again, in a very real way, she was.

"He's... what?" Those were all the words Dave could get out — could literally force past the explosions in his mind, the tightness of his throat.

"Chained up," Aunt Margaret repeated, "in his quarters." She put down the newspaper. "I'm actually very surprised and disappointed in him, David. He wasn't with Papa all that long, but I know he was trained better than _that_..."

"What happened? What did he do?"

"When I woke up this morning, I was expecting him to be ready to help me move my plants to the flower show. But I find _nothing_ done! Not even breakfast prepared! He said he was 'busy with other duties,' but he knew as well as we do that's no excuse! Worse of all, when he did get around to moving my flowers... He _dropped_ some." Her voice lowered in horror; Dave would've laughed if he hadn't been so frozen.

"He... I'm sure it was an accident..."

"Such carelessness has _no_ excuse, especially when handling something he _knew_ was so precious! And he had the actual _nerve_ to offer excuses himself! Slaves do _not_ make excuses!" Her face had turned red; for the normally mild Aunt Margaret, this was a screaming tirade. "I barely had time to exact proper discipline make it to the show in time to set up my display! I'm honestly shocked, David, at how much Sebastian inconvenienced me today! There is simply _no_ reason on Earth why—"

"Aunt Margaret..." His voice had finally gained back some of its strength, and the older woman stopped talking. "You disciplined my slave without consulting me?"

"Oh, I know it's usually not done, but such egregious behavior demanded immediate punishment, and I didn't want to bother you while you were studying..."

"But... Sebastian said you always treated him well..."

Aunt Margaret blinked. "Of course I did, dear. He was Papa's slave; I had no right to treat him like he was my own."

"But you did now?"

"If you want an apology from me, then I apologize. But I was so outraged and shocked that there was really nothing else to be done." Her face softened. "Besides, you're both _so_ young, and neither of you is used to your new position. You have so much to learn about your new responsibilities. This is for the best, David — for you _and_ Sebastian. How can he live out his long life of servitude if he doesn't learn while he's young?"

Dave swallowed, walking past his aunt so comfortable ensconced in his favorite armchair. "I'm going to let him out."

Aunt Margaret rose. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said sharply.

"Why not? He's _my_ slave, and you meddled with my authority—"

"I wouldn't have had to if you'd shown that authority in the first place!" She sighed, her tone softening. "David, I've only been staying with you for a couple of days, but it's become clear to me that you simply don't know how to handle your new role. Now, that isn't your fault; it's the way you were raised." Dave bristled, but Aunt Margaret continued before he could even think of saying anything. "This is an important and necessary first step in reestablishing discipline and keeping Sebastian's development and training on track—"

"You're talking about him like he's a puppy!"

"No, he is not a puppy, he is a slave. Everyone talks about owning them as if they were puppies, but it's very hard! Being an owner is a large responsibility, and not enough people acknowledge it!" She didn't seem to hear Dave snort. "I know you think you're doing what you believe is right, but there is so much you both need to learn, and—"

"I'm letting him out," Dave growled. He turned towards the room — _that_ room. He expected Aunt Margaret to shout or rant some more, but...

"Of course, if you wish, that's entirely your right and prerogative," she said calmly.

The words accomplished what shouting or ranting would never have; he stopped and turned. "Really?"

"But that would just demonstrate the need for a guiding hand in your and Sebastian's lives," she continued, just as calmly. "As your aunt, someone who loves and cares about you, it would be my duty to step in."

"You'd actually interfere—"

"Once I told your other aunts and uncles, I'm sure they'd be happy to help." _Interfere is more like it,_ Dave thought, his nerves chilled at the very notion of his aunts and uncles visiting, going through his life with a fine toothed comb, interfering in any one of a hundred ways... "Our first step would be to hire an overseer, of course, one who would keep Sebastian in line and teach you the proper methods and procedures..." _An overseer who'd beat him, brand him, do a whole hell of a lot worse than even Aunt Margaret..._ "And I'm sure you'd be able to find time in between classes to attend training courses for responsible owners... I or one of your other relatives would be happy to look after Sebastian in your absence..." _I'm sure you would..._ "We would make sure that you had all the help and support you need..." _Looking over my shoulder all the time..._ "For as long as you need..." _Once they get their claws in, once they_ know _... I'll_ never _get rid of them..._

Dave prided himself on his burgeoning independence. Sure, he still needed a lot of help, from a lot of people, but he was starting to live on his own, and he was growing to like it, a lot. That was one minor reason why this whole "slave" thing never appealed to him. But he also knew his Patton relatives — knew them a lot better than he wanted to, actually. And if they even got a whiff of an idea that he needed "help" dealing with his new slave... He had absolutely no doubt what would happen, to him and to Sebastian, especially given what he knew...

So there was really only one thing he could do.

He smiled.

"I really appreciate your help, Aunt Margaret."

"You're very welcome, David," she said, returning a pleased and placated smile, much to Dave's relief.

"I think you're right; with college and being a new owner and everything... I guess I was just a little overwhelmed. I let my attention slip. I promise, it won't happen again."

"Oh, don't feel bad — it happens to the best of us!"

"I'd just... appreciate it if you could let me know before you discipline Sebastian..."

"Yes, I do apologize for that. But as I said, this is better, for both of you."

Ironic, how true that was, even if it wasn't in the way she meant it. "I understand." Funny how hard those two words were to say. He thought "I'm gay" was bad, but this... The bile burnt his throat.

Aunt Margaret's smile grew magnanimous. "I knew you'd see things my way." She gently patted him on the forearm; it took all his willpower not to flinch. If she'd tried to hug him... But she wasn't that kind of person.

"So... how long should we leave him in there?"

"Oh, overnight, at least. He should recover from the whip anyway..."

The color drained out of Dave's face. "You whipped him—?"

Aunt Margaret blinked innocently. "Of course. I thought that was a given. Of course, it's been so long since I've had to do something like that, but I believe I applied enough force to correct his behavior without being unnecessarily cruel." She rose. "Since Sebastian is indisposed, why don't we go out for dinner? I'll pay. I need a good meal before the convention anyway."

Dave smiled weakly. "Sounds good. Let me get changed." Without letting her reply, Dave hurried towards the back of the apartment. He paused by the door, _that_ door. His fingers twitched, wanting to unlock it, but...

 _Will he understand?_ Dave thought. _Or will he think I had a hand in this? If he does, he might..._

Dave listened at the door. He heard nothing, but that was to be expected; the thing was that thick for a reason.

Dave leaned his forehead against the cool wood. "I'm sorry..." he whispered.

Maybe Aunt Margaret was right. He really didn't know how to handle this...


	8. For Sale: One Son, Slightly Used

Sometimes Dave felt like cowardice defined his life. It was there at McKinley, when he didn't stand up for Kurt, for people like them both, when he didn't do what he wanted to do (feel the spotlight, warm on his face) out of fear of what _people would say_. It was there at home, when he kept quiet while his mother talked about "them," not realizing that one of "them" was sitting right across the table from her.

And here it was again, at college, the place where he promised himself he'd finally take things into his own hands. The words that ran through his brain over the next days were words he'd heard in his head many times before.

 _God-fucking-dammit, Karofsky, be a fucking_ man _already._

The ones that followed were always different, depending on the circumstances. In this case, they ran something like this:

_Let Sebastian the fuck out already. Who the fuck cares what Aunt Margaret does. He's your... property. If your aunts and uncles try anything funny, wave their precious ownership laws in their faces and tell them to stick it up their asses._

_You know what this is doing to him. You_ know _. You have no fucking excuse. None._

But, of course, he did. Otherwise he would've done it.

Mostly, it was his knowing the Pattons, and the kind of access their money could buy. He had absolutely no doubt whatsoever of the hell they could make both his life and Sebastian's if they put their minds to it. All the worst stereotypes, excesses, and abuses of the 1% were present somewhere in that fucking family, and banding together in common cause came naturally to them — the dark side of Grandpa Murray's belief in family. They were experts in meddling, and had the cash and influence to make their... preferences particularly pernicious. They couldn't do anything legally, sure, but they could — and would — worm their way into his life with the tenacity of parasites if they were given the excuse.

Worse yet, they'd be doing it "for David's own good"... and actually _believe_ it. After all, it wouldn't do for the Patton name, for Dave's own future, if he didn't know how to handle his own slave. It seemed that everyone, from Grandpa Murray to Sebastian himself, thought that he'd take to this ownership thing all on his own — that the taste of power and luxury would make him throw away years of belief. It was actually a little insulting... But then, none of them had known about Kurt.

Dave sighed at the reminder. He'd thought that after Kurt, after McKinley, he had a little more courage.

 _I guess not_. Something to discuss with Dr. Harcourt, maybe.

Then again, maybe he was off his game a little. Aunt Margaret's proximity, and what he knew about Sebastian, certainly wasn't helping his frame of mind. Still, there came a point where he was finally done with excuses.

He managed to convince Aunt Margaret that he simply wasn't equipped to give her the help she needed alone. So, for the sake of her precious flowers (which Dave was sorely tempted to spray with weed killer), she graciously "allowed" him to let Sebastian out. For the rest of the weekend, he watched the two like a vulture; Aunt Margaret cooed at his "kindness." By the time he was ushering her into her town car for the trip to the airport, she was gushing about how wonderful a visit it was, and how Grandpa Murray would be _so_ proud of what a fine young man he'd become. Dave was perversely proud of the frozen smile he'd had to keep up at _that_ remark; he'd even managed to return the cheerful wave as the town car pulled away. But the second it vanished, the smile shattered, his shoulders sagging, as if under enormous weight.

Sebastian was waiting for him when he returned to the penthouse, eyebrows raised, as if in curiosity or anticipation. He watched silently as Dave threw himself onto the couch. "I can start dinner now if you like..."

"How can you think of dinner at a time like this?"

"Well, it _is_ six o'clock; that's usually dinner time. I was planning to serve last night's leftovers, but if you want something else, I can—"

"I'm sorry!" The words burst out of Dave like the foam out of that volcano he made for his third grade science fair.

Sebastian stared. "You're _apologizing_ to me?"

"Yeah, that's what 'I'm sorry' usually means," Dave said quietly. "And I really am. I was a coward. I should've told Aunt Margaret to go to hell—"

"For doing what you _should_ have done? For what you should've been doing all along?" Sebastian rolled his eyes so hard that Dave was surprised they weren't bouncing across the floor towards him at that moment. "I don't understand you—!"

"Yeah, well, maybe that's because I don't understand _you_!" Dave's nerves were singing and dancing, like that lame-yet-oddly-attractive glee club at McKinley. "You're, like, _nothing_ like any slave I've ever known! None of the books I've read describe anyone _r_ _emotely_ like you!"

"And that's a bad thing?" Sebastian said with an arch grin. Dave snorted, then suppressed the flowering smile on his face.

"Like that! See? That's exactly what I mean! Fuck, I can understand that you—" Dave swallowed, forcing those next words back down. _Shit, that was close. This is_ not _the time to bring up_ that _._ Then again, what _would_ be the time? Maybe he'd learn something here that would tell him. "You keep asking me what kind of master I am. A shitty one, apparently. But I gotta ask you: what the _hell_ kind of slave are _you_? I can't figure out how you lasted ten minutes with Grandpa Murray!"

"The hard way." The words were so soft that Dave nearly didn't catch them. "Master Murray made damn sure of that." Sebastian sank into a chair without even asking; that was how Dave knew the slave was lost — whether it was in memories or emotion or some combination of both, he couldn't say. "My parents sold me when I was fifteen."

Dave gaped in horror. "F-fifteen?" he squeaked. "Aren't... aren't there laws against that shit?" But that was a stupid question; of _course_ there were laws against it, both on the federal level and in every state in the union. From Dave's vague memories of history class, they started sometime in the 1800's, supposedly as a measure to "protect free families." But his father and Jack always said that it was because poor freeman families were having child after child for the sole purpose of sale, and the elite were upset that this was "glutting the market." Whatever the reason, in the end, the laws just codified a cold psychological reality: there came an age where it simply wasn't worth the time, effort, or resources to turn a child who'd lived as a freeman into a "proper" slave, and it was better for everyone (or at least "the market") that they stopped trying. It was also why banks had strict rules limiting the use of human collateral — not for any humanitarian reasons. It just wasn't a good investment.

"Of course there are," Sebastian snapped. "But my parents found a loophole. My family always did have that magic touch." There was a bitter pride in his voice.

"But... why?" Two short, simple words, yet Dave knew as soon as he said them that they were the keys to a horrible vista. He wanted to take them back, to tell Sebastian that he didn't have to answer, but before he could, Sebastian actually... did.

"Because I was an embarrassment to the family. Because I was acting out — never mind _why_. Because of my sexuality. Because my dad was running for Connecticut state attorney, and didn't need me complicating it. Because..." Sebastian's shoulders trembled. "It was a lot of things — some of it my fault, some of it not — that came together. Maybe if any one of them hadn't been there, they wouldn't have..." He shook his head, keeping his face so tilted towards the floor that Dave could barely see it. "It was all really hush-hush. They paid for every layer of secrecy they could find. As far as anyone who knew me was concerned, I moved to France for school, and loved it there so much I that just... stayed."

"H-how could they...? You were their _son_." Even Dave's mother, as much as she hated his "choice" in sexuality, still loved him... For two parents to decide to do _that_ to their own flesh and blood... His head just couldn't wrap around it.

"Well, it helped that my mom is dead, and that my _stepmother_ wasn't exactly attached to me."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Who could I have told that would've listened? Besides, what good would it have done? It would've been satisfying, sure, but it wouldn't have closed the loophole or undone my sale. Besides, that's one of the reasons I went to Master Murray." When Sebastian looked up, there was an odd look on his face — not quite sympathetic... almost... pitying? "They knew they could trust him to keep me quiet."

Dave continued to gape. Just when he thought this couldn't get any worse... "You mean your dad... and Grandpa Murray...?"

"They met when my dad was just a junior attorney; Master Murray was one of his firm's clients. But yeah, they got along famously. Once I overheard Master Murray say that my dad was more of a son to him than any of his actual sons."

Dave massaged his temples. He really didn't want to ask this next question, but it would burn a hole in his gut until he knew... "What... what kind of master was Grandpa Murray?"

There was a slight pause — to Dave, it could've been a lifetime — before Sebastian answered. "Old-fashioned. And by that I mean by the book. He was never unnecessarily cruel, but he knew how to keep me in line. How to train a willful free kid into a top notch slave." Dave knew at that moment that he would, could never ask for details. That was just a bridge too far. "Oh, he was _real_ proud of how he did with me, but he could never tell anyone just how skilled and clever he was. That as one of the few— no, make that the _only_ perk of my 'job'. And no..." Sebastian's head snapped up, as if forestalling words Dave didn't even know he was forming. "He never touched me. Like I said, he was old fashioned. He didn't think slaves were worth a freeman's time or thought off the clock, in _any_ regard."

"I—"

"Yes, yes, I know, you're sorry. You always are." Dave wasn't quite sure how Sebastian meant that statement, but he wasn't sure he could disagree with any of the possibilities. "I'm going to do what a slave is supposed to do, _Master_ , and serve you by telling you this: it's not your fault. It's not your fault that you were born into the family you were, any more than it was mine. It's not your fault that my stepmother is the kind of cold bitch who'd use her grip on a man the way she did. It's not your fault that my dad is the kind of man who'd let her. It's not your fault that your grandfather tossed you into the deep end of a pool you never wanted to be in. And even if you were ten times worse as a master than this, you wouldn't ever, _ever_ be anywhere _close_ to the kind of man Master Murray was. At least you're lousy for the right reasons. Got it?"

Dave felt like disagreeing, but knew that wouldn't get him anywhere — hell, he had to admire the way Sebastian skirted on insulting his former master without committing the big no-no. Instead he just nodded. "Yeah."

"Good. Then if that's all, I should've started dinner half an hour ago."

Dave absently waved a hand. Sebastian rose, gliding into the kitchen, as Dave continued to sit, deep in thought. The buffet of emotional blows over the past few days was still dizzying, but he was starting to recover. He was starting to think.

_What the fuck was it that Jack said...? About his research? Dad said something about it too, about how the loopholes..._

The memory burst upon him so suddenly that he nearly fell. As it was, he had to steady himself on the coffee table to retain his balance. Dave shot to his feet, his trembling hands yanking his cell phone out of his pocket. Ignoring Sebastian's curious glance, he strode into his bedroom, slamming the door shut. _No sense getting any hopes up. But if I'm remembering right... God, please let me be remembering right..._

"Dad? Hey. I really gotta talk to you. I remember you saying something about some research you and Jack were doing...?"


	9. Happiness in Slavery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I've always wondered: am I weird for being a little reluctant to use AO3 to reply to comments/reviews? I'm used to That Other Site's ability to put a reply in the commenter's PM box. Since here, it adds to the story's Review counter, I feel like I'm padding my own count. It may be weird, but that's my impulse. But I do appreciate everyone's feedback; it's really been encouraging, especially since this genre is entirely new territory for me. Thanks for the kudos and such!
> 
> (PS: In case you're wondering about the chapter count, I'm probably going to fuse the last two together; I've suspected for a while they go over too similar territory. If I do separate them again, you'll see it here.)

Dave would always remember the exact moment he got the call. He was just biting into a bagel, the cream cheese cool against the roof of his mouth, when his phone went off. He groaned inwardly, doing some quick mental calculations on how long it would take him to finish his bite, chew, and swallow...

The phone trilled again; Dave thought he heard it get higher pitched in impatience.

He decided to swallow down the half-chewed piece (miraculously avoiding choking in the bargain) and grab his phone. "Hey, Dad."

"David, I've completed my research, and I'm pretty sure it'll work."

Dave was on his feet in a flash. He speed-walked towards the bedroom; he could hear chair legs groan against the floor behind him — Sebastian getting up. He ignored this, his heart pounding in his ears and throat too much for him to think about or feel anything else.

It wasn't until he slammed the door behind him that he finally trusted himself to talk. "You're serious, Dad? Really?"

"Yeah, I think it will. I was afraid I'd need a sympathetic judge, but it's all pretty black and white law."

Dave swallowed; where had that lump in his throat come from? "So... no one will fight it?"

"Oh, I'm sure some Patton will hire an attorney once they hear about this, if only to make sure that it's actually legal. But if they do try to fight, any worthwhile attorney will tell them that they'll lose. These are pretty weird and unique circumstances, but I'd stake my reputation on this."

Dave felt a bead of moisture running down his cheek. Holy shit, was he crying? He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that... "God, Dad... This is great," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I... I gotta tell him. I wasn't sure I should be hoping, but..."

"Yeah, I feel pretty good about it myself, son. Finally being able to do something about Murray... We beat him, David. We finally beat him."

"So you'll get the ball rolling?"

"Of course. It shouldn't take too long. I think I'll be able to cut through any attempts to delay without too much problem, especially since you're the legal owner."

"Thank you, Dad. Thank you so much..."

"It was my pleasure. Now go give the good news."

Dave switched off his phone and practically ran back into the dining room. Sebastian was still there, standing next to his abandoned breakfast. "Are you going to finish?" he asked mildly, casting an eye at the bitten bagel and rapidly congealing eggs sitting on his plate.

 _Food? How can I give a shit about food at a time like this, with...?_ Dave willed some small measure of calm into himself. He did pick up his glass of orange juice and take a large swig; his throat felt like sandpaper. "Sebastian..." he began once he trusted himself to speak. "I've got news. Great news."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"I've been talking to my dad for the past few weeks..."

"I know. I was wondering about that..."

"Yeah, anyway, I asked him to look into your, uh, sale..." Sebastian's face twitched; Dave was too eager and excited to notice. "And he found the loophole your dad used to sell you."

"I could've told you about that, if you'd asked."

"No shit?"

The slave nodded. "Master Murray was talking about it to a friend of his once. I made sure to listen in. I thought that if I understood..." He shook his head. "It didn't help. So what does this have to do with anything?"

"Well, he's been doing some research. There have been new laws passed in the last couple of years. I don't exactly understand the details, but combined with the loophole and the right paperwork from me..."

"Yes?" Sebastian's face looked oddly blank, but again, Dave failed to notice.

"He can emancipate you." The words came out much softer than he'd intended, almost awe-filled, but they came out. "He can completely undo the original sale. He said it'd be like using the loophole against itself — I have no idea what that means, but the point is..." Dave leaned forward, a smile coming over his face so joyous that he thought his face would crack in half. "You'll be free."

There was a long silence. Sebastian was still staring with that same blank expression. _But of course, he would,_ Dave thought — _he's in shock. He probably never thought this would happen._ So Dave waited patiently. Finally, Sebastian spoke.

"No, thank you."

Dave could feel his jaw drop; he was a little surprised he couldn't also feel the cool marble table brush against it. "W-what?"

"No, thank you." Sebastian smiled. "I'm perfectly happy serving you, and any future master you may choose to sell me to."

All the excitement had drained out of him like someone had pulled a cork in his stomach. Dave stood. "What the hell are you saying? You're saying you _like_ being a slave?!"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "But of course."

"B-but you weren't born into service! You were a freeman for _fifteen years_. How could you possibly—?"

"I've grown to love my role. Master Murray taught me to—"

"Bullshit!" Dave spat. "I still don't know exactly what Grandpa Murray did to you, and honestly, that's because I've been afraid to ask. But I knew him. He was fucking _family_ , as much as that fucking disgusts me. And whatever he did, it was _not_ pleasant. It was _not_ for your own good or whatever the fuck he might've said at the time. Besides, it's too late. Dad's already started the process."

"Then call him back. Tell him to stop it." Dave could almost hear Sebastian swallow. "Please."

"W-why are you fighting this?" Dave asked in bewilderment. "Are you afraid you can't survive on your own if you're freed? Because with as much money as Grandpa Murray left, I don't think that'll be a problem..."

"I told you, I just don't want to. I hope you'll respect my wishes."

Dave shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't."

"Oh, so you're doing this for my own good?"

Dave inhaled deeply, trying to will some calm back into him. It didn't work. So he simply said, "I'm trying to get you into a position where you can decide that for yourself."

"I already have. And I don't want to be emancipated."

"Yeah, well, I've don't want to own a slave. I've never wanted to own a slave. But I didn't want to sell you to someone who might... abuse... you..." Dave rubbed his eyes. "This is the only way out that I can see. Think of me how you want, but I really actually think that this is the best thing I can do for you."

"And you're wrong," Sebastian whispered. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"How can you ask that?! Because I—!" He resisted the urge to start pacing; instead, his hands gripped the edge of the table. "You know how I feel about slavery! I can't believe that you actually enjoy it — not you."

"What do you mean?" Sebastian asked quietly.

"Look, we've been living here, together, for months now. I think... I think I kinda know you by now."

"Oh, you do?" His voice was mildly acidic. "So tell me, what do you know about me?"

Dave exhaled, sitting back down. "You have a beautiful voice," he said softly. Sebastian boggled, but Dave pressed on regardless. "You're an awesome cook. You got this eye for detail that I'm seriously jealous of. You like trashy cable reality shows and root beer, and you'd just slam a block of parmesan on your spaghetti if you could. Most of all, you've got this pride that Grandpa Murray wasn't able to kill, and I... really like that." Dave could feel his cheeks burning; he couldn't meet Sebastian's eyes. "If you stay a slave, that pride's gonna die, like it did for Kurt. I know it will. I can't stop it as your master, so I'm gonna do it as your friend."

Sebastian barked haughtily in laughter. "You? My friend? No. That is what's been fucking this whole thing up since day one. You are _not_ my friend. You are my _master_."

"Right. Your master. And you're my property to do with what I want."

"Exactly."

"So what I _want_ is for you to be free. Can you stop me?"

Sebastian's mouth opened, then closed. His shoulders sagged. "No," he whispered.

"Then that's that, isn't it?"

"I'll just sell myself again!" Sebastian burst out. It was obviously a desperate bit of improvisation, but he continued all the same. "I will, I swear! To someone else! Someone who won't fucking emancipate me!"

"Oh, yeah? How? You're over twenty now; you're covered by age limitation laws. Even if you did find someone who'd take a risk on you based on your training, what'll they think once they open up your record and see you've already been legally emancipated once? You think anyone will want to go to the bother of buying you with the chance that it'll happen again?" A cold silence followed. "Yeah, me neither. Look, Sebastian, I want to understand..."

"There's nothing to understand. I don't want to be emancipated."

"Will you stop treating me like I'm stupid!" Dave burst out. "I may have taken a few hits on the football field, but I've got fucking _eyes_! I've got a fucking _brain_! Not to mention the fact that my dad and my brother have been showing me the truth behind slavery for _years_ , so don't you _dare_ fucking tell me that this is a life you actually want!"

"If you really... cared about me," Sebastian began, swallowing at that one word, "you wouldn't do this to me."

"I might not, if I thought it was what you actually wanted."

"Oh, so you know better than me what I really want?"

"Are you even _listening_ to yourself? If you had a kid, would you sell him into slavery so he could have the life you do? Because if you love it so much, you would in a heartbeat, wouldn't you?" Dave stared Sebastian straight in the eyes. "Tell me. Tell me you enjoy being a slave enough to want that for your child."

Sebastian, to Dave's admiration, didn't even flinch. _There it is,_ he thought. _That pride._ "Just because I'd want a better life for my hypothetical child doesn't mean that I think my life sucks," he said calmly.

Dave shook his head in wonder. "You're really taking this as far as you can, aren't you? If I didn't know better, you might've actually convinced me."

"Fine, how _do_ you know? How do you know so fucking much that I'm not telling you the truth?"

"Because...!" Dave was never sure if he would've spilled the beans, said all he knew, right then and there. Was it fortunate or not that Sebastian interrupted, that he never had to be the one to open up the long-festering can of worms? Neither he nor the few people he talked to after that could ever come up with an answer.

"Fine. You're determined to go through with this?" Sebastian's face set, a cold hard mask that almost startled Dave with its harshness, as unfeeling as the marble tabletop between them. "What do you think the authorities would think if they got an anonymous tip that a slave was conspiring to touch off riots and insurrections amongst his fellows?"

Dave felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. "W-what?"

"What if that tip told them that he'd been plotting directly with two vocal abolitionists, Paul and Jack Karofsky? Sure, they may not completely take the word of an anonymous tipster, but they'd definitely look into it if the tip sounded convincing enough. How sure are you that your brother's work has been completely above board...?"

"Are you threatening my family?" David whispered.

"If that's what it takes." Sebastian drew himself up to his full height, his spine straight and his arms crossed. "If it'll make you think things through for once in your life. If it'll stop this nonsense, I'll threaten anyone who—"

With a loud roar, Dave swept the breakfast dishes off the table. They smashed to pieces on the hardwood floor. Sebastian swallowed. Dave's face was twisted in a kind of pure rage that he'd never seen before — that he wasn't sure his master was _capable_ of. Was this it...? Had he finally found the right button...?

"That's it!" Dave bellowed, his face ruddy with suffused blood. "I've fucking _had_ it! I've had it with slavery! I've had it with Grandpa Murray! Most of all, I have _had_ it with _you_!" He circled the table and grabbed Sebastian's arm roughly. Sebastian's heart pounded; out of what emotion in that moment, even he couldn't say.

Dave practically dragged Sebastian to the punishment room. "Get in," he growled, his glare and clenched teeth leaving no room for argument, backtalk, or even question. Sebastian stepped inside. But instead of shutting the door, Dave vanished. Sebastian barely had time to furrow his brow in puzzlement before Dave reappeared, carrying a chair from the kitchen with him. Dave entered the room and slammed the door behind him. "Sit down," he snapped.

Sebastian's mind was whirling with confusion. Of all the possible outcomes he'd imagined... this wasn't fitting into any of them. "W-what?"

"I said, _sit down_." Dave's arm shot out, pointing directly at the cot. Sebastian sat; Dave slammed the chair down against the wall opposite from him and sat in it. "Now," he rumbled, his voice only marginally calmer, "you are going to tell me the fucking truth for once."

"Truth? About...?"

"Do _not_ fuck with me, Sebastian. I am _not_ in the fucking mood." _No shit_ , Sebastian thought. To his surprise, Dave's face actually softened. "Look, I already know. So you can tell me already."

"Know... what?" Sebastian asked in genuine puzzlement. Could he mean...? No. No, of course not. There's no way he could know about _that_. He'd had over five long, hard years of practice in hiding. There was no way...

Dave sighed. "You're still wanting to play it that way? Fine. We are going to sit here and we are not leaving this room until you're straight with me."

"I still don't understand what you mean."

"I think you do. And I'm not bluffing when I say I do too. So you have no reason to hide this shit anymore."

"Are you... ordering me to be straight with you?"

"No. I want you to tell me because you want to. Because you're ready to be honest with me."

Sebastian turned up his nose in a way he didn't remember doing since he was fifteen. "Then we're going to be here for a while."

Dave folded his arms obstinately. "I'll wait."

A silence fell over the cold little soundproofed room. Sebastian sat on the edge of the cot, staring at Dave. Dave sat in his chair, arms still crossed, staring at Sebastian. Neither moved, neither spoke.

Seconds turned into minutes, piling atop each other like grains of beach sand.

Still neither moved.


	10. The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing But the Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everybody's patience. The holidays, family... You know how it is. Thanks also for the commentary; it all means a lot!

How many hours passed without a word? How long did the two young men just stare at each other in that cold, silent room? Neither Dave nor Sebastian could ever remember. Dave was the only one with a watch, and he refused to look at it the entire time, instead staring straight into Sebastian's eyes. Sebastian, for his part, merely stared back with the blankest expression he could muster.

Occasionally, one of them would speak:

"You're going to miss your class."

"Not your problem."

At one point, Dave's stomach audibly growled.

"You didn't finish breakfast."

"I know."

"I could make you some—"

"Sit. Back. Down."

"Yes, sir."

Then more silence.

With the door shut, there wasn't even the subtle background noise that usually accompanied even the most silent room in today's world — unless one were to count the whisper of sheets shifting under Sebastian as he tried to keep himself from squirming in discomfort. He held his gaze on his master; Dave's expression flat, except for a glare that he could only call "determined." He had to admire that — admire that deeply, in fact. He just wasn't going to let this go... No matter how much he should have, how much Sebastian wanted him to.

"I'll do it," Sebastian burst out. He made an effort to keep the wince out of his face; he didn't think he'd be the first to break. It was frankly humiliating — just one more moment to add to the sky-high pile. "I'll report your father and your brother. Even if the authorities don't believe me, they'll still make their lives a living hell regardless, just because they're abolitionists. I'll—"

"Is that what you want?" Dave was leaning forward, his eyes wide, a curiously tight expression on his face. "Seriously? That's what you really want?"

Sebastian fidgeted. He wasn't exactly sure why he felt guilty, especially at this point, but... "It's not something I'd take pleasure in doing, but if it'll make you stop this insane—"

"That's not what I meant!" Dave burst out. He leaped to his feet and began pacing the room, rubbing his face with his open hands. "Christ! I thought I could wait you out, but... Fuck, Sebastian, there's only so much I can fucking take!"

Sebastian had never felt so bewildered in his life. Even that _one moment_ when he was fifteen ("Yes, son, I'm dead serious. This is the signed contract. This is all the requisite paperwork. You leave with your new master tomorrow.") couldn't even compare. "But— Wha—?" He was even _talking_ like a fucking caveman. He mentally cursed Murray Patton and every single member of his entire fucking family tree, natural and grafted-on. There was just _something_ about that goddamn man and his goddamn family that seemed to grab onto something inside him, twist it until either it, or he, snapped.

But there was something... _different_ about the way Dave did it. The obvious was slowly starting to sink in: Dave really was nothing like his grandfather. But the many ways in which this was true was a topic that something in Sebastian's gut rebelled in even considering — and that was apart from the idea that he'd wasted a whole lot of time and effort trying to accomplish something that he was never going to succeed at. It was the _whys_ , and the possible whys, that were sinking in, and Sebastian didn't know if the ideas percolating into his head made him more upset, nauseous, or angry.

"I won't do it!" Sebastian nearly jumped at the sound. Yes, Dave's lips were moving, and they were forming words. _Focus, dammit, focus!_

"Do... what?"

Dave groaned aloud, a baritone from deep within his chest. "Are you really going to make me—? Okay, fine! Have it your fucking way!" Throwing up his hands, he got up and swung the door open. "There! There's the door! You know where the balcony is! If you really want to die, go ahead! Do it! But I am _not_ , and I am _never_ , going to do it for you! You hear that, Sebastian? I will _not_ be party to your suicide by being your fucking murderer!"

Everything seemed to freeze. Dave stood by the door, glaring. Sebastian sat on the bed, his mouth agape in a fashion he would've found hideously undignified if he'd had a coherent conscious thought in his mind.

It was Dave who broke the tableau this time. His face softened; he sighed as he shut the door again. "Are you ready to talk?" he asked gently. He went back to his chair and sat down; Sebastian followed with his head, but otherwise, his stunned expression didn't change in the slightest. "I told you I knew," Dave said with a cockeyed half-grin. "You're hurting and you're desperate. You feel trapped. You just want it to stop. And you know only one way that's in your power to make it stop... for good. But you just can't bring yourself to do it. At the same time, you don't want to go on living either. So yeah... The talking back, the trying to get me to be a 'proper' master, what happened with my aunt... I've known what you were trying to do since day one."

"B-but..." Sebastian's throat felt like it'd been worn down with sandpaper; he had to swallow, twice, before he felt like he could actually speak. "How?"

Dave's head bowed; he half turned away, and it was only thanks to the soundproofed silence in the room that Sebastian could hear him at all. "I have a mirror."

"What?"

"Your first day here... When you thought I wasn't paying attention. You had this look... I'd seen it before. In a mirror." Dave exhaled. "I told you there was a time in my life when I didn't take being gay all that well. During that time, there were a lot of days when I just wondered if it'd be easier to... end it. Then I wouldn't have to deal with my mom trying to set me straight, or my dad's disappointment, or my friends abandoning me..."

"I thought you said your dad was cool with you."

"He is. But I didn't know it at the time. And I guess I kind of felt like you were trying to push me into becoming... someone I used to be. Someone I didn't want to be again. Ever."

"Was I?" Sebastian asked, eyebrow cocked.

"Yeah. The bully. The guy who responded to everything with anger and violence. It's kind of a long story, but you already know a lot of it. I wasn't the best person in high school, and I think — I hope — I've changed. But there you were, trying to make me do things that sort of went back to that time..."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. I know you—" Dave laughed, so suddenly that Sebastian actually reared back. "Oh, God, you're good."

"What?"

"The way you were steering the conversation towards me. It was real smooth, man — expert. But this isn't about me, this is about you."

"Not entirely," Sebastian said, simultaneously impressed and disappointed that he'd been caught out so much quicker than he'd expected. "I mean, this explains a lot for me too..."

"Yeah. That's why I was trying to treat you as a friend. I wanted to give you a reason to keep living, and it was the only way I could think of to do it. I knew that you'd just shut me down if I tried talking about it directly, and maybe I screwed it all up anyway..."

"'Maybe'?" Sebastian said with a not entirely unkind raised eyebrow. "You snapped and shut us into a slave chamber. I don't think we would've ended up this way if you hadn't screwed it up."

"Still trying to get me to kill you? I'm insulted, dude."

"No, just the truth... now that you've convinced me that you really _are_ nothing like Master Murray."

Dave couldn't help the smile that came over his face. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he said softly. "But you can just call him 'Murray.' Hell, I _order_ you to. Or call him 'fucking bastard' for all I care. He doesn't deserve any kind of title or respect, especially not from you."

"Only because you ordered me to," Sebastian replied, accompanied by a shadow of a smirk that reminded Dave just why he'd done everything he did in the first place.

"But damn, Sebastian... You never _had_ to die. Why do you think I'm emancipating you? Once it's done, it'll be all over!"

Sebastian's gaze turned cold. "For such a smart guy, you really are stupid."

"What?"

"Holy Christ, you really don't understand! You've never understood, or you wouldn't have treated me like your fucking buddy!" Now Sebastian was the one pacing the room, rather like a caged panther at the zoo. It occurred to Dave that this sudden display of anger _had_ to be a good thing — Sebastian wasn't being servile, or snarky, or reticent — but he was too caught up in the emotional atmosphere to think straight. "You do-gooding abolitionists are all alike! You just blunder into things trying to help but all you do is make things worse!"

"You know what? You're right: I _don't_ understand. So enlighten me."

"You can't imagine what it's like, having no hope but a life of slavery, day after day after—"

"But I offered you a way out! You can be free!"

" _It's too late for that!_ " Sebastian nearly screamed. "That's the whole fucking _point_!" Throwing up his hands violently, he turned to Dave, a weird mix of rage and pleading in his eyes. "I've spent over four years being a slave. How can I go back to a normal life? No matter what happens to me now, it'll never be 'over'. Assuming I could even support myself—"

"My brother inherited a bunch of money from Grandpa Murray. I bet you anything he'd give it all to you as compensation—"

Sebastian snorted contemptuously. "You think _money_ will fix _anything_? How can I forget what I've done, what I've had to do? How can anyone ever want to associate with someone like me? Oh! Maybe I should get a goddamn therapist! I bet _that'll_ help erase my own fucking _dad_ selling me into slavery and everything that happened after that!"

"I don't know what happened," Dave said quietly. "You'd never tell me."

"Oh, so you really do want to know." Sebastian's tone was now utterly flat. Dave's spine tingled; it was less of a question and more of... a _dare._

 _No._ "Yes."

"Okay. Your funeral." Sebastian sat back down on the bed. He closed his eyes for a moment; in that moment, Dave's lips started to move, to say he changed his mind. But then he opened his eyes and spoke. "Master Murray wasn't just my owner. He was basically my trainer. It was his job to make me a good slave. Dad knew he could do that; that's why I was sold to him. I had the formal training, of course, but a lot of it... didn't take at first."

"Gee, I wonder why?" Dave knew it wasn't appropriate to try to lighten the mood like that, but he couldn't help it; his therapist told him later that it was likely an impulsive way to preemptively soften the horror he knew would be coming. Probably true, but it didn't make him feel any better.

To his surprise, Sebastian actually smirked in response. "Yeah, well, anyone who's known me for more than an hour would probably say the same. I was scared as shit, of course, but it's not that easy to beat discipline into me; I guess that's why Dad did what he did to begin with. It sure sunk in for Master Murray pretty quickly. I think that's why he decided on his... methods."

Dave's growling stomach was now churning. "What the fuck did he do?"

Sebastian turned away a little, the harsh bare bulb overhead casting his face in both glare and sharp shadow. "That's the thing: he didn't do anything. He actually treated me all right.  Never raised his voice, never struck me, never touched me." Before Dave could even form words to express his puzzlement, Sebastian continued. "Oh, sure, Master Murray kept training me. But whenever I got into denial about my situation or got too... uppity, he'd loan me out to his friends." Sebastian swallowed audibly. "Let's just say they weren't as... principled as Master Murray."

"How many?" Dave asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Four. Mr. Rollins was the best of them; he just liked whipping me every time I looked at him funny. Sometimes I escaped with only two lashings a day. Ms. Stapleton had... needs. Her husband was dead, you know, and she couldn't be seen with escorts; that wouldn't be _proper_." By now, Sebastian was ghost white under the incandescent bulb; Dave's face was cold enough that he thought he was probably the same. "Mr. Kyle had needs too, and more than a few kinks that he could only really explore with someone who couldn't object." His voice cracked at that last word; Sebastian's hands balled into shaking fists that clutched at his pants legs. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a cough. He bowed his head, his next attempt at speech wavering. "Mr. Rose liked to play psychological games. Said it was his 'hobby.' Withholding food at random, dressing me up like a French maid, having one of his other slaves offer to break me free to see how I'd react... I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about his _other_ 'experiments'..."  He rubbed his arms, as if suddenly chilled.  "The worst part was, I never knew which of them it'd be until the moment he opened the door."

When Sebastian looked up, his eyes were wet and shining; this almost unnerved Dave even more than any of the words. It was as though the young man in front of him were cracking apart, allowing Dave to see all the raw nerves and flesh underneath. "Every time I was returned," Sebastian continued, his voice strained, "Master Murray would always welcome me back personally with a big smile. The first thing he'd say was, 'Aren't you glad to be home?' This went on for about a year and a half, until one day, after a week with Mr. Kyle, Master Murray was there as usual, saying, "Aren't you glad to be home?' And..." He choked back what sounded a lot like a sob. "I actually was."

Sebastian gulped down a breath of air; Dave forced himself to wait patiently, listen to Sebastian's lungs slowly settle into some semblance of normalcy, before the slave continued. "I was a perfect slave after that. He broke me, Master David. And it only took him less than two fucking years. I'm so goddamn weak..."

Dave started to reach out, then pulled his arm back. If he had to sum up this whole slave ownership... thing in one word, it'd be _lost_. He thought he felt lost when he was trying to deal with being gay; that was a goddamn walk down to the corner grocery store in comparison to _this_. He'd have run screaming a long time ago if doing so wouldn't have made everything worse for Sebastian.

He was tired of turning his back because he was scared.

"Y-you're not weak," Dave began. Sebastian laughed bitterly. "You're human. You dealt with a lot of shit you shouldn't have had to deal with the only way you could."

"Where'd you get that from?" Sebastian asked in a jarringly cheerful tone. "Therapist?"

"So what if I did? You... you still have so much pride left." Sebastian laughed again. "No, seriously. I can _see_ it in you, every day, every time you made some sarcastic remark or tried to teach me how to be a better master. Hell, I'm fucking amazed you made it through Grandpa Murray's torture for a whole _year_ ; I would've broken long before that. And I would've been _so_ fucking broken and numb that I wouldn't have even thought of trying to escape. Even if it was... that way." Sebastian didn't reply; Dave prayed that was a good sign and pressed on. "You're a lot like Kurt. You're so strong, in your own way... and I don't want to see you give up any more than I wanted him to."

"This is bullshit!" Sebastian burst out. "This is like your whole emancipation scheme — it's _bullshit_! I can't go back! How the hell am I supposed to live a normal life, remembering everything that's been done to me? That I've had to... do?" He shook his head violently. "I can't stay a slave, I can't be free... There's nowhere for me to go! I'm _nobody_ now!"

"No, _that_ is bullshit!" Dave roared, standing and drawing himself up to his full height. "I don't know everything about you, but I know that no one as weak as you say you are could've schemed like you did, could've walked the fucking tightrope you did trying to manipulate me. Even without all that... I've lived with you practically 24/7 for months. I just... there are things I can, uh... just _feel_ about you."

Sebastian snickered. "Oh, now you're just making it too easy for me."

"Stop deflecting." A near mirror image grin crept over Dave's face regardless. "But see, that's exactly what I mean! You've got _spirit_ left. You're not completely beaten. I think you didn't kill yourself because deep down, you want to live. It doesn't sound like you've ever had anyone who really cared about you or supported you—"

"Except you. Is that what you're saying?"

"Will you shut up and listen to me for a second?!" Dave took a deep breath, and went on. "It makes me fucking sick to think that might be true. I had my dad and my brother and I'm so goddamn grateful for them every day... I don't know what I would've done or become without them. You deserve people who... who'll have your back. Everyone does."

"Don't do this." Sebastian's eyes were wide, his voice breathy; the desperation was so palpable that Dave's heart skipped a beat. "Please don't do this. I'll do anything, just don't do this..."

Dave closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry." Sebastian seemed to physically wither as he slumped on the bed. "I can't keep you; it goes against everything I believe in. I can't sell you. I can't do what you want me to do. This is the only option I can think of — the best option. I really do think this is the best way, Sebastian. But... I will give you one order."

"And that is?"

"Don't do anything stupid like going through with your threats against my family."

"Damn," Sebastian said wryly. "I was hoping you wouldn't think of that."

"I told you, I'm not stupid. Like I said, I think I know you better than you think. You wouldn't have gone through with it. You were just desperate."

"Yeah, I was... am desperate. But that just means that I can be pushed to do things I wouldn't have normally."

"Maybe, but if you'd done what you were threatening to do, you ran the risk of getting arrested and punished as a possible rebel — but not killed, like you wanted. That would've been the worst possible place to be. That's how I knew you weren't serious." Sebastian's jaw dropped. "Like I keep saying, I'm not stupid."

"So if you knew I was bluffing, why'd you get so angry?"

"Because..." Dave's face lowered. "Because it hit me then just how desperate you were to die. I got mad because... my own grandfather twisted you so bad you wanted to die, and... you don't deserve to die. And it hit me that nothing I did helped, and..." His hands clenched and opened, repeatedly. "I just didn't know what to do," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I still kind of don't."

"What a stunner." Sebastian paused for a moment, regarding Dave. "So why do you care?"

"What do you mean, why do you care? I've been taught to fight slavery my whole life, and my own grandfather did this to you, then dropped you in my lap and expected _me_ to—"

"It's not just that!" Sebastian snapped. "If you think you know something about me because of the time we've spent together, then I think I know something about you! You're all gung-ho abolitionist, sure, but there's something else. I can hear it in your voice, and feel it every time you... Look, I can't describe it, and I sure as hell don't know what it is, but..." Sebastian cocked his head with an appraising look that made Dave extremely uncomfortable. "I'm not sure you do either, do you?"

Dave wasn't sure exactly what Sebastian was saying, but the more he thought about it, the more he didn't want to. Besides... "Deflecting again," he said in a soft sing-song. "Look, I know you probably don't trust me. It kinda hurts, to be honest, but hell, it doesn't sound like anyone's ever earned that. I sure as hell haven't, considering the hash I've made out of everything. But I want to, and..." His fists tightened again; he thought of locker rooms, football fields, the constant pressure on his chest of _fear_ , fear that he'd have to use those fists to defend himself against his own so-called "friends"... "I feel like I'm treading water here, and... Goddammit, Sebastian, I don't know what to do." He felt his eyes water as he stared at Sebastian, but somehow he couldn't find it in himself to care. "Tell me what to do," he whispered. "Tell me how to help you. Tell me how to make you want to live."

Sebastian stared back for a long moment; Dave lost count of the heartbeats and eye blinks that passed. Then his head bowed, and Dave could see the tears dripping to the floor. All at once, Sebastian's entire body shook with sobs. He buried his face in his hands and cried, his shoulders heaving, his lungs gasping for air between hyperventilating inhales.

Dave gaped. He willed his muscles to move, but they remained stubbornly frozen. He willed his throat to speak, but his mind provided no words. All the while, his inner voice was screaming, as it so often had since this whole sorry episode began: "Do something, you moron! _Do something!_ "

Finally, slowly, he reached over, his hand gently alighting upon Sebastian's right shoulder. Dave squeezed. It was wholly inadequate, he knew, but perhaps this wasn't the time for grand gestures or croons of comfort. Maybe, right now, it was more important to remind Sebastian that there was someone there.

Someone who gave a damn.

Sebastian didn't stop crying, but — perhaps it was Dave's imagination — it seemed to subside, just a little.

Dave sat there, with his slave, until the tears finally ceased.


	11. Wanting and Needing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Home stretch, which is a good thing, considering how long ago I started this. Hope to keep up the quality 'til the very end...

"Sebastian?"

Sebastian looked up from the silver he was polishing. Dave had insisted that it wasn't necessary, but... "Look, I need something to do. If I just sit around and think about what we talked about, I'm going to go fucking insane. So let me do this. The paperwork isn't signed yet. Until then, I'm still your slave and my duty is to serve." He paused deliberately, for maximum effect and drama. " _Please_." Dave gave in; Sebastian could've kicked himself for not thinking of that before.

Dave was entering the apartment, escorting a middle aged woman with short red hair dressed in a conservative black suit. "This is Dr. Hayward," he said.

"Sebastian." Her voice was low and smooth, her face neutral, yet open _,_ as if waiting to absorb words spoken by another...

_Oh God._

Sebastian coughed. "Uh, Master David, when I mentioned therapists, I was actually, y'know, _joking_..."

"Yeah, well, I'm not," Dave said flatly. "Dr. Hayward specializes in slavery related issues."

"Issues?" Sebastian snorted. "'Issues' is dressing up like characters from cartoons for little girls. 'Issues' is having to drink yourself into a stupor to get on an airplane. 'Issues' is not being able to get off because mommy didn't hug you enough. I don't have 'issues' — I have whole _magazines_."

Sebastian wasn't exactly sure why he was talking so much. Maybe so he wouldn't have to _think_ , especially of the mechanisms that were inexorably turning in the background, where he couldn't do anything to slow or stop them one iota. It was why he was polishing silver like a man possessed, after all.

Maybe because he knew now what would inevitably happen, and it was all over except for the screaming. If so, he was going to "scream" as much as he could. _Haven't done that since I was fourteen..._ He didn't quite know how to process that realization.

The doctor glanced at Dave; he nodded. "Sebastian..." she began, "your situation may be... unique in some ways, but in others, it's actually quite common — and becoming more and more so." Sebastian felt his eyebrow raise; whether in skepticism or curiosity, even he couldn't tell. "I've been consulting with abolitionist groups for many years now, helping former slaves transition into free life. I know your circumstances aren't like most, but I truly believe that I can help."

"I'm tired, Sebastian," Dave said, his face backing up his words. "I'm tired of flailing around not knowing what to do. So I'm doing what I should've done a long time ago, and brought in the experts. Maybe now I can _do_ something worthwhile instead of just being an enormous shithead..."

"Hey, stop putting yourself down," Sebastian muttered. "That's my job."

Dave snorted. Dr. Hayward raised an eyebrow of her own, but said nothing. "I've hired Dr. Hayward with the money from Grandpa Murray," Dave continued. "It's supposed to be for your care, right?" The mischievous grin on Dave's face, the thought of getting one over on Murray Patton, even just a little bit... Damn if didn't make Sebastian smile too, a little. "She's going to be coming here twice a week. May pace that out to once a week if things go good."

"Which means what? Bending me to your will? I thought you didn't like doing that to your slaves."

Dr. Hayward didn't so much as twitch. _Huh, guess she really has seen it all_. Dave pursed his lips. "You know what I mean," he said in a low voice. "I'm not keeping you, Sebastian, in any way, shape, or form. I'm not going to hide behind technicalities when it comes to _that_. Get fucking used to it." He nodded towards Dr. Hayward. "Doctor." He turned to leave.

"Wait!" Sebastian cried. "Where are you going?"

"Uh, I got class, remember?"

"But you're leaving me here...? With...?"

Dave's lips cracked in amusement. "Yep. What, you thought I was gonna listen in on your sessions? What kind of creep do you take me for? Take her seriously, now, and _talk_." He gave the two an entirely too jaunty wave and left the apartment.

Dr. Hayward turned to Sebastian with a look that was at once magnanimous and determined. "All right, Sebastian, let's start at the beginning... With your parents..."

Sebastian had often wanted his master to kill him.

But this was the first time _he_ felt like killing _his master_.

* * *

There it was, scattered over the dining room table... The paperwork. Everything Dave would need to sign to start the emancipation process.

Sebastian had the urge to gather it all up and burn it in the oven. Then Dave — patient patient Dave — would just roll his eyes, huff, and print new copies. It'd be cathartic, but utterly pointless.

So Sebastian watched. He watched as Dave hummed under his breath, biting the tip of his pen and idly spinning a piece of paper under his left fingers. It was much like many evenings he'd spent watching his master do homework, a scene he'd become used to.

No, not quite "used to"... More like...

What?

He shook his head. This was irrelevant, immaterial, and interfering with his cooking dinner. He turned back to the stove just in time to keep the pot from boiling over.

Culinary crisis averted, Sebastian began tearing apart lettuce leaves for the salad. By the time he set the bowl on the table, brimming with cut carrot and wedges of tomato settled in a bed of rich dark green, Dave was squaring the papers together and shoving the neat little pile aside.

"Man!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands as Sebastian served a plate of steaming hot stew over a bed of brown rice. "I'll definitely miss this when—" He stopped cold, then shook his head. "Sorry," he said in a low voice as he picked up his fork and shoved a mound of food into his mouth, as if trying to gag any further words from exiting.

Sebastian sighed. "I told you, you don't need to be ashamed for enjoying my services." Dave's face shot up, eyes wide. Sebastian waited for him to swallow before continuing. "Come on, I think I know you pretty well by now. Look, you're not any less worthy of an abolitionist for liking having someone to do everything for you. Unless you're one of those creepy housewife types who actually likes doing all that crap, it's _human_ , okay?"

"So you don't like doing it either."

Sebastian tamped down the thrill of panic that shot through him — mostly because it was beneath him. It was as if he were afraid that Master Murray or one of his children was lurking around a corner, just waiting to jump out, point at him, and yell, "Aha! Complaining about serving, eh? Back to Mr. Rose with you!" It was ridiculous! He was (unfortunately) a Smythe — and slave or not, he had more pride than _that_.

"That's not important," he said. "It's my duty, and I do my duty."

"Only because you _have_ to. See, _this_ is why you need to be free."

"Oh my God," Sebastian groaned. "You are the _worst_ slave master in the history of mankind!"

"Well, _duh._ I keep _telling_ you that I never wanted to be one in the first place."

"You could've at least _tried_ to learn! What if I hadn't been so bull-headed? What if I'd been more like your Kurt?"

He could hear Dave suck in a breath, and he wondered for a brief moment if he shouldn't have gone there (but why? It wasn't like he hadn't done more — a _lot_ more — in the past. So why care now?). But then Dave said, "Then he would've shut up and obeyed me when I told him I was going to free him. That would've been a whole lot easier on everybody, wouldn't it?"

Sebastian had to stifle a wild giggle threatening to burst from his chest. "Why, that was practically blunt. Don't tell me I'm rubbing off on you a little, Master David?"

Dave shrugged with a small smile. "Hey, we're going to have to talk as peers one of these days. I might as well start learning."

And there it was — the elephant had come for a nice visit. It was as though both young men felt the atmosphere settle over them, smothering, like a thick blanket. For a long minute, the only sound was Dave's fork scraping against his plate. Finally: "How're things going with Dr. Hayward?"

"I would've thought you'd know exactly how they were going," Sebastian sniped.

"I'm not your father."

"I should hope not. But you _are_ still my master."

"Not for long, thank fucking God. And you didn't answer my question." Sebastian opened his mouth, but: " _Don't_. Just... don't ask me if I'm ordering you to answer. I'm tired of that game."

"Fine," he said in a sulky tone that was only half joking. "It's... okay."

"You talking, instead of just sitting there like a rock? She can't help you if you don't take it seriously, you know."

"What do you care? Once the emancipation comes through, your conscience will be clear. You can just wash your hands clean of me and be done with it."

Dave's fork clanged as it hit the table. Sebastian looked up; his master's eyes were wide with... what? Not exactly shock, but... understanding? "Holy shit," Dave breathed, "is that what this is all about?"

"What?"

"You think I'm going to fucking _abandon_ you? After everything Grandpa Murray and I put you through?"

"Okay, first, do _not_ put yourself in _any_ kind of group as Master Murray. Hell, I don't even think you share the category of 'member of the human race.' Secondly, it's not _abandoning_ me; you just don't have any _reason_ to concern yourself with me once I'm freed. And third, I'm _fine_ with that. After almost six years of having to depend on masters for my very _life_ , I'm actually looking forward to having no one to depend on but myself for a while. It'll be a test of how much I learned as a slave."

And Sebastian meant it. He meant every word, God help him.

"You've gotta be fucking joking. All these months as your master, and you think I'm just going to—"

"That's what I _want_."

"Well, that's not going to fucking happen!"

" _Why not_?"

"Because I'm worried about you, all right?" Dave burst out. He got up and started pacing the kitchen.

"I'm not Kurt," Sebastian said coldly. "I'm not going to be your symbolic second chance."

"That's not it! God, would you just _listen_ for a second? I mean, yeah, maybe my feelings for Kurt is messing with things a little. I can't know that he has absolutely nothing to do with this. And yeah, I feel guilty for what my grandpa did to you. But god-fucking-dammit, Sebastian, do _not_ tell me that this is all about guilt, because I know myself well enough to know it's not. It's about _you_."

"What about me?" The words came out far more strained than he'd intended, and God, what the fuck was _happening_?

"Like I keep telling you, I see all the good things about you, the things that your dad and Grandpa Murray and the entire fucking slavery system has spent six fucking years beating out of you, and I'll be _damned_ if I let them fucking win. You... Oh, fuck, I'm actually gonna tell you this, aren't I?" He sighed. "Fine. I actually envy your strength."

Sebastian blinked. "You're kidding, right? You remember that I spent the last half year trying to get you to put me out of my fucking misery, right?"

"Yeah, but as _I_ keep reminding you, I wouldn't have ever gotten that far. I would've been hanging from a fucking rafter after a week—"

"Don't say that." Sebastian's voice was low, almost a growl. "Don't you _dare_ fucking say that."

Dave blinked, a befuddled expression coming over him. "It's true..." he said slowly.

"You call that _strength_? I call it shutting down. I call it doing what I had to do to survive. I call it willingly jumping so deep into a pool of insanity that it'll take your Dr. Hayward a _hell_ of a lot longer than a couple of weeks to get me out again, assuming she even can..."

"And none of that changes the fact that I would've given up hope," Dave said quietly.

"What, you think wanting to fucking _die_ is having hope?"

"There's wanting to die, and then there's wanting to die. You couldn't do it yourself."

"Because I was too much of a fucking coward!"

Dave shook his head. "I think that was just an excuse all along."

Sebastian snorted. "And I think your happy-happy abolitionist goggles are finally messing with your brain."

"You forget," Dave said grimly, "that I've been there. Never as bad as you, but I've been there. And dammit, maybe I'm naive, but I don't think that continuing to live _ever_ comes out of weakness and despair. I just... I _feel_ that strength in you, every time you snap and sneer and make sarcastic remarks! Besides, none of that — _none_ of it — erases anything else about you that's worthy—"

"Oh, for—!" Sebastian threw up his hands. "How much clearer can I make this? I don't _want_ your help. I don't _w_ _ant_ you to be any more concerned about me than you absolutely _have_ to. That's why we're in this mess in the first place!"

"Why not? You deserve—"

"You must be kidding! NO ONE does that! Not to me! I'm not some kind of charity case you can just dust off and clean up to ease some stupid guilty conscience!"

"No, you're a human being who shouldn't have had to go through all the shit you have."

Sebastian leaped to his feet. "I'm not a fucking human being!" he cried, almost pleadingly. "I! Am! A! Slave!"

"Right now. But less than a month, you won't be. Deal with it." Dave seemed startled at his own words; he regarded Sebastian for a long moment with slightly tilted head. Sebastian had to turn away a little at the gaze. Finally, Dave said, "Sit down." It was a gentle command, but a command nonetheless, so Sebastian obeyed. Dave followed, sitting on the other side of the dining room table. "Okay, I was kinda hoping that Dr. Hayward would handle this, but... maybe I can crack the door open a little for her. Besides, I'm kinda curious..."

The flutter in Sebastian's stomach threatened to push into full-fledged nausea. "About...?"

"Well, like I said, in less than a month, you're going to be a legal human being. So what are you going to do?"

Sebastian blinked. "Do?"

"Do."

Sebastian's mouth felt dry. "I... I don't know."

"Hm, maybe that wasn't the right question. What do you _want_ to do?"

"I don't want anything." It was an automatic reaction, so rote that he was barely conscious of his lips and throat saying it.

"Stop that. Stop that right the fuck now. I know it didn't matter before, but it sure the hell does now."

"Bullsh—"

"No! Shut up and _listen_. You are a fucking human being. _Right_ now." He jabbed his finger into the table. "You are _worth_ something. Almost _everyone_ is, and you're not a fucking exception. I know you think it's a bunch of therapist bullfuckery, but it's _true_. I had to learn it the hard way, from other people opening my eyes, but it's _true._ You're a hundred times the human being Grandpa Murray or _any_ of that fucking side of my family will _ever_ be."

"What I want doesn't—"

"Matter. I know, I know." Dave ran his fingers through his hair, huffing. "Okay, fine, this is how we're going to play it? I _order_ you to talk to me about this."

Sebastian swallowed; it did nothing to fix any of the parched dryness. "Fine."

"I know the future is scary; fuck, I'm scared of it myself. But you have to want _something_ , right? That's how you got through the bad nights, I'll bet: dreams. Maybe even the kind that you had when you were asleep, but dreams. What were they?"

"What do you care?"

"I'm curious. And hoping that it'll get your mind going. And I'm your master, so stop questioning me." Dave smirked a bit at that last; Sebastian couldn't help but loosen a little. "Seriously, though... What do you want?"

"Well..." Sebastian swallowed again. He considered saying "to stay a slave," but God, he could actually _hear_ the ensuing conversation, with its eye-rolling platitudes and vomit-inducing hearts and flowers, like it was actually happening right in front of him. So instead he thought about the question, actually _thought_. "Well..." he began again, his voice trembling a little despite himself. "I was always a pretty good cook, even before... You know..."

Dave nodded encouragingly. "You are pretty awesome at that."

"But of course," Sebastian said airily, which made both young men grin. "I used to help out in the kitchen sometimes when I was a kid, just for fun; my stepmother made my dad hire a cook, and we'd collaborate, and she'd share some of her recipes... Anyway, when I was sold, I had enough experience there that training was completely unnecessary, which your grandfather was just _delighted_ by..." This time, both shared a wince, and Sebastian hurried on. "The kitchen was always a refuge, you know? No one would touch me or even talk to me there; they didn't want me to be distracted and burn their beef Wellington. They all liked my food enough to send me in regularly, and of course, I got to sneak some tastes as cook's privilege, so I guess...?"

"You guess...?"

Sebastian nodded, his eyes closed. "If... if I had to... I guess it's something I could do." He opened his eyes to see Dave leaning forward over the table, as if hanging on his every word. "Maybe even want," he added hurriedly, without consciously forming the thought.

"That's... great," Dave said.

Sebastian frowned, replaying the two words over and over in his mind looking for the slightest hint of insincerity, the tiniest chink in the armor. "Whatever," he finally said. "You don't have to pretend to be interested..."

"I'm not pretending," Dave snapped with just enough peevishness that Sebastian knew he was telling the truth. "It's just that... I _told_ you Grandpa Murray didn't beat the strength out of you. And that you have something to hold onto... I think that's great."

Sebastian shrugged. "I don't know if it's as significant as all that... But I suppose you might have something of a point."

"Well, it's great to have goals — something to work towards. That's what got me through my senior year."

Sebastian thought of having goals — something longer term than ordering eggs for tomorrow's breakfast or how to stay out of Mr. Rose's way as long as possible. Something longer term than just trying to get through another endless day... All he could see was this yawning void, infinitely dark and infinitely cold...

An actual chill ran through Sebastian's chest.

"You seriously think that having a fucking _goal_ is going to make everything all better?" he asked, trying to make his voice just as cold.

"Uh, _no_. That's what Dr. Hayward is for. And I know even she can't make everything better. Maybe... maybe nothing will make _everything_ better." Dave's gaze dropped, his shoulders sagging; this actually _hurt_ Sebastian, for some unaccountable reason. "But fuck it, I'm gonna try anyway."

"Why?" The word was whispered, but it held the weight of a question for the ages, one asked a hundred times in a hundred different ways, never with an answer that satisfied him.

"I told you, because you deserve better than what you've gotten. Everyone does. It took me a long time to learn that, but now that I have, I go balls to the wall for it. I'm sorry if you don't like or understand my reasons, but I'm telling you, that's what they are. Besides... treating you like a friend has sort of gotten me to think of you as one." Dave grinned — a small, wry grin, but a grin nonetheless. Sebastian relaxed. "It's a fucked up situation, yeah, but... I want to see it through."

"Well, thanks for making me your pity project, but—"

"Gotta tell Dr. Hayward to talk about your cynicism," Dave muttered.

"Like I've actually seen anything in my life that would make me think otherwise," came the acidic reply.

"Okay, fine, you've got a point. I just—" Dave rubbed his eyes. "Like I said, I'm _tired_ , Sebastian. I just want this to be over."

"So now I'm something you just want to be over?"

"Do you want me to care or not? Christ, make up your goddamn mind." Despite his weary tone, there was a half-smile on Dave's face as he spoke. "Look... I know you don't have much reason to trust anyone, but I like to think that I've demonstrated at least a _little_ goodwill over the past few months, right? I also know I wasn't completely straight with you, but I had my reasons, and maybe it was a mistake. But I'm being straight with you now. Completely. Everyone matters, Sebastian. _You_ matter." Dave stared straight into Sebastian's eyes. "Do you believe me?"

Sebastian stared back for a long time — so long that Dave started to get a little uncomfortable. But it wasn't like he hadn't engaged in enough staring contests with Jack in his childhood, and dammit, if this is what it took to get this through Sebastian's goddamn skull, he'd stare until his eyes dried out. The slave's face was almost alarmingly blank... except... except his lips seemed pursed, a little tighter than he normally did. What did that mean? Did it mean anything? Did it even _exist_? Was he looking for something that wasn't there?

Dave wasn't a patient man, but still he waited.

Finally, Sebastian exhaled, a breathy, tremulous sound that bespoke of some emotion that Dave wasn't really sure of. "I..." He swallowed, then started over. "I believe that you think so."

Dave exhaled as well. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, or even wanted, but... "I guess... that's enough. For now." He smiled a little.

Sebastian felt a heat coming into his cheeks. He rose, shoving his thoughts into a closet and kicking the door shut. "Your dinner is cold," he said bluntly.

Dave started, looking down at his plate as if it were some strange worm that had wriggled its way up onto the table. "Huh. Forgot about it." He grinned. "Not much that can make me forget about your cooking."

Sebastian resisted his own grin. "Here, I'll warm it back up." He smoothly snatched the plate out from under his master and brought it into the kitchen.

"You don't have to—"

"But I'm going to anyway," came the curt reply, tossed carelessly over a shoulder.

"Okay, fine, have it your way. But I _am_ going to give you an order."

Sebastian turned, his eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

"Don't do anything stupid. And I order you to take that in the spirit in which it was intended."

Sebastian shook his head, that grin escaping despite himself. "Understood. I won't do anything stupid." He turned back to the stove. "But not because you're my master," he muttered.

"What?"

The slave turned once more, his countenance casually curious. "Hm?"

"What did you mean by that last part?"

"What last part?"

"That 'But not because you're my master' part."

"Did I say that? I'm afraid I don't remember what I meant. Now, did you want dessert? I still have some leftover chocolate mousse..."

Dave let it go. But he did puzzle over it occasionally: as he had his dessert, as he finished up the paperwork, as he brushed his teeth. The way Sebastian oh-so-casually dismissed his questioning, as if it were nothing at all (but instead made it seem like the most important thing in the world)... It felt like the truth was just brushing his outstretched fingertips.

He shook his head, sighing. It wouldn't do him any good to obsess over something that was probably unimportant anyway. Besides, he had another early morning ahead of him and hockey practice was starting to catch up to his muscles and joints.

Dave wriggled between the sheets, clicked off the bedside lamp, and settled his head onto the cool pillow.

The moment he closed his eyes, Sebastian's meaning punched him directly in the stomach.

Dave literally popped bolt upright in bed, his eyes wide in the darkness.

"Oh. Shit."


	12. The Day Draws Near

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for letting these last two chapters go this long. I've had other things going on in my life, including other projects that I just got swept up on, and I had a period of dissatisfaction with what I came up with at first. But I *DO* finish 'fics, and certainly finish 'fics that have been requested by someone else, that this site has basically been paid for, AND is so close to completion!
> 
> So just one more chapter after this, and I hope to have it done much sooner than this last gap. Thanks, y'all, for being so patient.

"Shit, Dave, you gotta be careful."

"I know."

"He's your fucking slave. You're probably the first person who's ever treated him decently."

"I know!"

"And now he has fucking feelings for you? How do you know where they came from? You can't act on them, no matter what he says he wants—"

"I know!" Dave practically shouted into the cell phone, pacing his bedroom like a caged tiger. "How many fucking times do I have to tell you 'I know' before you believe that I know?!"

There was silence on the other end. Dave was starting to think that calling Jack was a bad idea. But who else could he talk to? None of his college friends would've taken this situation seriously. Forget talking to "professionals." His dad would listen, but that would've been even more awkward than this. His older brother was the best option: even as assholish as he could be (standard for siblings of any kind), he was also level headed and would give Dave absolutely no bullshit. In fact, this sudden quiet on Jack's part was starting to make Dave a little nervous.

"Um..." He could hear Jack's dry mouth smack. "How _do_ you feel about this guy?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Dave." And yes, he did, but he wasn't about to tell Jack that. "You sounded real upset just now. Do you..." Jack coughed. "Do you, y'know...?"

"I don't _love_ him, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah, well, there's other levels of feeling than just 'love.' Do you care about this guy? I mean, more than a slave, or even a friend?"

There it was. No evading the question now. Dave groaned, throwing himself onto the bed; he took no comfort from the firmness of the mattress under his back, or the silkiness of the sheets under his neck. "I... I don't know."

"What _do_ you think about him, then?"

"Well, there's a lot I admire about him. He wants... wanted... to die, but he still has this strength and this pride that just comes through with everything he says and everything he does..."

"Sounds like that guy from your high school."

Dave considered a moment. _Huh_. "Y'know... You're right. I guess... I guess I really admire that in a person. Maybe because I don't have that kind of strength myself."

"You do." There was no teasing in Jack's voice, not a hint of jocularity; that in of itself was unusual. "You don't see it, bro, but you do."

Dave had no idea how to reply to that, so he didn't even try. "Anyway, he's really smart, really quick witted. He's, like, a genius in the kitchen, and he's fucking funny when he wants to be..."

"Is he hot?"

Dave smiled fondly; lost in his memories of his time with Sebastian, he didn't even register the question as he answered it. "Yeah. He is. But that doesn't really matter to me. Even if he was hideous — like you — I wouldn't care at all. It wouldn't change how I see him."

Jack cleared his throat. "You know... It sounds like you do kinda have feelings for him."

It was as though someone had tossed a series of water balloons directly into Dave's face. He thought — actually _thought_ — about what he had been saying... and more importantly, how he'd _felt_ while he was saying it. "Oh. Shit."

He could almost see Jack shake his head. "Oh, man, little brother, you are _fucked_."

"Tell me about it." His head sank deeper into the plush linens.

"You know you can't give in to how you feel, right? You can't know what Sebastian really wants — especially not while he's still your slave."

"I keep _telling_ you I know that!"

"All right, all right, fine. But... he still deserves to be free." Abolitionism was Jack's driving force, his main purpose in life. He'd gone to work for various lobbying groups and anti-slavery politicians and causes directly out of college, and spent every spare moment writing speeches, making calls, raising money, and marching at protests. He'd even been arrested twice for civil disobedience. His passion was so borderline militant that some deep part of Dave really did worry about Sebastian's threat a little. There were, he was sure, certain authorities who would've eagerly leaped at the excuse to detain Jack and put him into the metaphorical thumb screws. He didn't know if Sebastian knew that, but somehow, he felt certain that he didn't. Maybe that was another little facet of how Dave felt about him.

"Yeah. He does."

"No, I don't think you get what I'm saying. He's gonna be _free_. As in able to do whatever he wants."

"Yeah," Dave said in annoyance. "I know what 'free' means."

"That means he could leave Ohio. Leave you." Dave actually gasped aloud before he could stop himself. "He could decide that just seeing you brings up too many painful memories. He could decide that he wants to start over somewhere else. Somewhere far away. The day you sign those papers could be the last time you ever see him." Dave heard Jack adjust his hold on his phone. "Are you prepared for that?"

Dave closed his eyes. He'd never tell Sebastian, but there were times — a few times — when his slave's arguments struck home. Was the status quo really all that bad? Sebastian was used to being a slave now; wouldn't it be cruel to thrust him out into the world so unprepared for real life? And Dave would never mistreat him; they both knew that. Couldn't it be better to just keep things the way they were, with Sebastian a slave in name only? Then Sebastian wouldn't do anything foolish, and Dave could keep him close and protect him always...

That was always the point at which Dave's mind leaped back into sharp focus, and he'd feel like beating his own head against a wall for his selfishness. Because that's what Sebastian was counting on, what he'd always been counting on: for Dave to think of himself first, to give up his most deeply held principles, to actually think of a fucking human being as his property.

So now, confronted with the very question that had been spinning in his mind ever since the emancipation possibility became a reality, instead of thinking of his answer, he just let his mind go — let his mouth give voice to whatever lay in his heart. "Yes. It's not about me, it's about Sebastian. If he needs to be away from me, I won't stop him. If he has to get out of my life forever to be happy, then... so be it."

Jack sighed, a reaction that struck Dave as strange, until: "Goddammit. You really do have feelings for him." Dave didn't answer. What could he say to that? "I've been financing abolitionist groups with the money Grandpa Murray left me..." There were some conditions in the will about the trust fund — Grandpa Murray was a heartless bastard, but he definitely wasn't _stupid_ — but Jack and their father had put their heads together and figured out ways to siphon off cash to do with as Jack pleased. It was a kind of posthumous victory over Grandpa Murray, one that Jack was inordinately proud of. "... But there's still a lot left. I'm going to give some to Sebastian. Enough so he can do whatever he wants for the rest of his life."

"Good."

"It's all blood money, every fucking penny. Reparations like that are the least I can do for the role Grandpa Murray played in screwing with Sebastian's life."

"I agree."

"That means—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know: that means that he'll have the _ability_ to do and go wherever he wants. I get it, okay?"

"I just... I'm sorry, Dave. I want — no, wait, I _need_ to do what's right here. I just don't want to see you get hurt either."

"I know..."

"But Sebastian... he deserves to be whole too, maybe for the first time in his entire life. And pursuing his feelings for you may just make him even more miserable."

"I know!" He seemed to be saying that a lot lately. Dave lay his arm over his eyes, perhaps in an futile attempt to blot out the outside world, this whole sorry reality, this twisted society that caused decisions like this...

"If he does try to... have some kind of relationship with you, you may have to let him go yourself."

"Tell him what to do? Even when he's free?" Dave said snidely.

"Oh, for fuck's sake... You know what I mean. He's been a slave for so long, it's fucked him up, you've told me that yourself! Everything he's been through... It'd fuck up anyone! All I'm saying is that you may have to be the bigger man. You may have to do what neither of you wants to do."

"For his own good."

"For his own good." Jack was the one who sighed this time. "I know how it sounds, and I fucking hate that I said that. But... This thing... Slavery..."

"I know."

It would be the last time that conversation Dave would speak those words. But he meant them. He did know. That's what made the whole thing so very fucked up.

* * *

"You know I can't talk about my patients. Not even the slaves. Not even to the people who pay me." Dr. Hayward calmly snapped her notebook shut and shoved it into her purse.

Dave had already sent Sebastian out for groceries, but... He opened the apartment door and glanced outside. The hall was empty. He shut the door again and rejoined Dr. Hayward. "I just wanted to ask about Sebastian's progress. You don't have to tell me anything about what you've talked about."

"I still don't think I should—"

Dave exhaled. He hadn't wanted to play his hand this way, but... "Look, I'm still his master, and I'm going to be emancipating him in the next month. All I want to know is whether you think he's capable of making his own decisions."

Dr. Hayward raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to find a reason not to?"

"No!" _At least, I hope not_. "I want to make sure that _when_ I free him, he's not going to spiral into some kind of self-destructive cycle or something. That's happened, hasn't it?"

An odd look crossed Dr. Hayward's face — something like an abiding sadness. "Too often," she said.

"Then just tell me — as his master... If you were in my shoes, and you freed him, would you be concerned for his well-being afterward?"

There was a long silence. Finally, Dr. Hayward sighed. "You're asking me as his master."

"Yes."

"Which means I'm obligated to answer your questions."

"That's what I hear. But I don't want to pry — really, I don't. Just answer the question as generally as you can."

"All right." She licked her lips. "I think... I think Sebastian's self destructive tendencies won't be an issue as long as he continues to seek professional help. He's made a lot of progress in that regard, and I honestly don't believe he'll try to commit suicide if he's emancipated. He's had plenty of opportunities before, after all, even as a slave, so I think his self-preservation instinct is more powerful than even he believes."

Dave let out a sigh — whether it was relief or something else, he wasn't entirely certain. He'd thought as much about Sebastian — he'd _hoped_ as much — but hearing even a slim confirmation was enough for him. "Okay. Thank you." She rose to leave. "Oh, one more question..."

"Yes?"

_What if I think I have feelings for him? Has he told you about his feelings for me? Do you think we could ever work anything out, with our history? If he says he wants me in his life, should I believe him?  
_

_How do I make him stay?_

_How do I make him go?  
_

"Did you get my last payment?"

"I believe so; I'll ask my secretary when I get back to the office."

"Cool. I'll... see you next week, then?"

"I'll see Sebastian next week," Dr. Hayward said with a small grin.

"Oh, yeah! Right. Right. Until then." Dave watched her leave. Only when the door clicked shut behind her did he sink onto the sofa, holding his head in his hands.

Fuck, he was starting to wonder which of them needed the therapist more...

* * *

Now that Dave thought about it, what Dr. Hayward told him matched up pretty well with his own impressions. Bit by bit, Sebastian was getting better — or at least more used (more resigned?) to his impending emancipation.

He'd been slowly relaxing Sebastian's duties — doing dishes himself instead of having Sebastian do them, making his own bed, gently telling him that drawing a bath would be unnecessary. At first, Sebastian seemed to appreciate that he had the "out" of Dave's orders, but gradually, as the days and weeks went on, he stopped asking if he should do laundry or make a pot of tea. He simply let Dave do it for himself.

He was slowly stopping being a servant.

One night, over dinner, Dave _had_ to ask. "So..." he said as casually as he could; Sebastian looked up from his plate with similar casualness. That was another step in Dave's plan: "You should eat dinner when I do. It saves time; I usually don't need much while I'm eating anyway." He could tell from Sebastian's expression that his intent was pretty obvious, but it was an order from a master; he couldn't object even if he wanted to. "How're things going with Dr. Hayward?"

Sebastian's fork froze for a second in mid-air, trembling, before completing its journey. "Why don't you ask her?"

"She's not here right now. You are. So I'm asking you."

"Are you ordering me to— I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" Sebastian laughed, an easy enough laugh, so Dave wasn't quite sure whether he had actually been joking or not. "It's..." He paused, the smirk fading away. "It's actually not as bad as I thought it'd be. Dr. Hayward is... different." There were so many ways to take that adjective that Dave didn't dare try to guess what Sebastian had in mind. "She's actually pretty good at her job."

"So she's been helping." He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

Sebastian's face screwed up in thought. It was honest thought — much more than Dave had been expecting, which in of itself was a good sign, right? "Maybe," he finally said. "She keeps saying that just being able to talk about things without fear of being punished helps all by itself, and I didn't believe her at first, but..." He exhaled. "It really does. It's... freeing, in a way?"

"Told you."

Sebastian put on an exaggerated frown at Dave's small, smug smirk. "Yes, master. You were very wise. I can never hope to match the levels of genius that you have displayed." Dave laughed. "So, no, I'm not planning to kill myself after you emancipate me."

Dave had to spit up some of his water mid-gulp. Sebastian patted his back sharply through his coughing. "You..." he finally managed to say when he regained his breath, "you... uh... you knew...?"

"Of course. I'm a trained servant. My job is to meet the needs of my masters before they even know what they want. That's made me _very_ good at reading them. Or so I thought." Sebastian returned to his own chair.

"Why 'or so I thought'?"

"You," Sebastian said bluntly. Dave's heart froze. "You went completely off the rails I expected you to go — the rails I was _sure_ you'd follow, as Master Murray's grandson and as an owner. You defeated me, Master David. I have no idea how, but you did."

"And is that... a bad thing?"

"I don't know." When Sebastian next spoke, it was with a curiously light tone. "Seriously, you don't need to worry about me. I was too much of a coward to kill myself as a slave. Why should I have any more as a free man?"

"Christ, Sebastian, don't say that..."

"What, you thought _that_ could be fixed in a month and a half of therapy? You thought I could be better after years of being a slave? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm more fucking broken than _that_."

"That's... that's not what I meant..." Dave's voice was low and hoarse; Sebastian's face twitched, but otherwise, he didn't say anything. "I just... You keep saying shit like that, and who the fuck does it help?"

"Help? It doesn't 'help' anyone. It's just the truth. And yeah, the truth hurts sometimes."

"My therapist always says that cynicism is the last refuge of a hurt optimist."

Sebastian laughed. "Well, your therapist should try serving the whims of the sickest people on the planet for a few years and see how she feels."

Dave shrugged. "She'd probably say something like, 'What do you think it takes to hurt an optimist?'"

There was no reply. Sebastian rose from the table, but then, his plate was empty, so it was perfectly natural. He reached for Dave's out of instinct and habit, but one blank stare caused him to withdraw his hand. He strolled into the kitchen.

"Anyway," Dave continued, his voice trembling a little at the first syllable before settling, "I'm talking from experience here: saying stuff like that, putting yourself down... It's not being fair to yourself. All it does is make you believe that you're not worth a shit, day in and day out. That kind of thing beats you down as much as—" He caught himself before he could finish the incredibly offensive and stupid analogy his traitorous brain was feeding him.

"As much as a whipping, perhaps?" Sebastian cast a raised eyebrow at him before turning back to the sink.

"I didn't— I didn't mean to—"

"I know." Dave heard Sebastian sigh, his shoulders droop. "I know. Dammit." Dave wanted to ask what that meant, but before he could, Sebastian continued. "So tell me: what should you care about what I say about myself? I won't be your problem for very much longer."

Dave rubbed his face, hearing Jack's voice in his head again. _For his own good_. "You... you deserve better than what you've gotten all these years."

"So you keep saying. And maybe I have. But whatever happens to me now won't erase what's already happened."

"I know," Dave said softly. "Whatever you've done... whatever's been done to you... You can work and work and work to try to make it right, but it doesn't change what's already been done."

There was the clatter of stoneware against metal. Sebastian slowly turned and stared at Dave; he gulped. He had no idea what he'd sounded like just now, but... Had it struck some kind of weird chord in Sebastian? The slave practically drifted from the sink back to the dining room table. He retook his chair. "So." A smile slowly grew on his lips. "You're not as squeaky clean as you try to appear. You were a bastard once too."

Dave swallowed again. "I told you, I had a rough time of it for a long while..."

"No, no, don't be so modest," Sebastian interrupted (and that in of itself was a significant event), eyes twinkling. "I should've recognized a kindred spirit much earlier. In fact, I'm kicking myself right now. If I hadn't been so hellbent on getting you to kill me..." Dave winced at the almost casual way Sebastian brought it up, but perhaps that was his way of dealing with it. Was it particularly healthy? That was a question for Dr. Hayward, maybe. "... I would've seen it sooner. So what was it? You push around the geeks and the losers? You shut them in their own lockers? Steal their underwear while they were in the shower? Spray paint their cars?" He leaned forward with a devilishly eager look. "Did you do that to Kurt?"

"Pretty much. Sometimes even worse." Dave's hands closed into fists. He'd talked about this to almost no one — his dad, his therapist, and that was about it — but he felt like he _had_ to, now. "And yeah, sometimes to Kurt, when I could get away with it — which wasn't often, 'cause like I said, he was someone else's property. I treated a lot of people like crap, just because I was a scared little boy who didn't know how to feel better about himself without hurting others. But Sebastian, the person I am now... If he's any better, it's _because_ of what I was like then. Because of what I've learned, and all the mistakes I made. You don't..." He shook his head. "You don't have to be so eager to find out that I have fucking flaws. I'm not any better than you are."

Sebastian's face fell a little, but there remained still a ghost of the original smile. "So you claim," he said in a weird tone that would've confused Dave a few days ago, but utterly failed to now. Dave felt his heart sink a little.

"I'm really not. Fuck, you may be better than _me_. Nothing that happened to you was your fault." Sebastian snorted, but Dave went on. "I would've thought that you'd have seen by now that I'm flying just as blind as you with life. I know I have it better, because I was lucky enough to be free all my life and have a dad who isn't a complete and total bastard, but... that doesn't mean I'm not fucked up too. That doesn't mean I haven't fucked up royally — look at what happened with my Aunt Margaret. That shouldn't have happened, and it was my fault. It piled a bunch of crap on you that you didn't need or deserve, and—" Dave leaned back in his chair, all sorts of unnameable emotions draining from him. "I guess my point is, I told you that I knew what you wanted to do because I saw the look on your face in a mirror once. I guess... if you think you were a bastard before you were sold, then... Maybe we have a lot more in common than I thought." He hesitated, wondering if he should go on. He went on before he even decided to. "The only reason I'm the guy I am today is that I never stopped wanting to be better. I wanted to give up _so_ many fucking times, but my dad, my brother, my therapist... They never stopped believing in me. They never _let_ me quit, no matter how much I wanted to. Even today, I still don't know if I've done enough, if I've finally made them proud, but... I feel like I _have_ to try. If not for my sake, then for theirs."

"Fascinating. Well, who do I have in my corner, hm? Who do I have won't 'let me quit'?"

The silence that followed was profound. It answered all kinds of questions, even ones that weren't asked.

Sebastian rose again. "I think... I think I need to clean the guest bedroom."

"Are you kidding? No one's been in there for weeks."

"Just... please. I need something to do, okay? I'm not free yet, and... I'd just like to do my job, all right?"

Slavery a "job"... What a fucking joke, and Dave was about to say so. But Sebastian hadn't raised his voice one jot. He was quiet, firm, and...

"Please. I need to get my mind off— Just... I need something to do. Please..."

Oh, God, was that _desperation_ in Sebastian's eyes, in his voice? He prayed not. "O-okay."

His slave's shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you." He gave a small bow and hurried from the room, leaving Dave alone at the table with his thoughts. After a long while, he rose to his feet, hoping that some time online would be sufficient distraction to calm his own maelstrom of thoughts. He hoped that when he finally allowed to think of Sebastian's impeding freedom again, that he'd know better what he'd do whatever Sebastian chose to do with the rest of his life.

Those hopes were, of course, in vain.


	13. Freedom

It all came down to this. A man's entire life, his _future_ , down to this: just one signature.

Just one signature on a single piece of paper.

Oh, there were other papers accompanying that single piece, of course: lots and lots of them. One thing the law was not was efficient. But the core of it, the meat of it, was all on that single blank line.

"This is your last chance," Sebastian said. He stood on the other side of the coffee table, formal with ramrod-straight spine, watching as Dave lifted his pen. "You can stop this right now, put those papers in the shredder. Things will go back to the way they were."

"And that's supposed to make me _not_ want to sign?" Dave asked dryly, leaning back on the sofa.

"Suppose I told you again that I like being a slave?"

"You could, I guess. But I think you know by now that it wouldn't work."

Sebastian sighed with a deeply exaggerated put-upon air. "Unfortunately." Dave still couldn't tell just how much of the humor was an act, a shell, a mask — and he knew a lot about putting up all three.

It was almost infuriating, having someone so close to him that he both understood perfectly, and didn't understand at all. After all, as Jack and his father continually told him, how could any free man truly understand what a slave's life was like? That went doubly so for someone like Sebastian, whose circumstances were far beyond even the worst horror stories he'd been exposed to through his family's anti-slavery activities and research.

"Someone so close to him"... The thought brought Dave up short. It was the center of his anxiety over the past weeks and months. How close were he and Sebastian, really? Sebastian certainly felt close to _him_ , but how much of that was some kind of twisted form of Stockholm Syndrome? And how did Dave feel about him, and how much of _that_ was some kind of equally twisted form of guilt?

And would they have the chance to figure it out one way or the other?

He only realized that he'd hesitated at all when he happened to look up and see Sebastian's face. His staring eyes held an odd mix of anticipation, dread, and hope — hope, perhaps, that Dave was changing his mind?

No. None of this entire screwed up situation changed what the right thing to do was — _especially_ not Dave's uncertainty about fucking _feelings_. With almost violent gusto, he put pen to paper and signed his name so forcefully that he almost tore a hole in the page. He squared the papers together and slipped them into a manila envelope, an envelope he'd drop off at the Department of Human Resources personally first thing in the morning.

"I hate you," Sebastian said.

Dave shook his head sadly and sighed. "No, you don't." No answer came, which was an answer in of itself. "We still have a couple of weeks until the paperwork is processed. This whole thing is so fucking complex that most of it will probably be lawyers checking to make sure this shit really is possible. But after that... you're a free man."

"Joy."

Dave rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was going to have to find this out sooner or later — why not now, rip off the Band-Aid? "Have a seat," he said, waving to one of the chairs. Sebastian silently sat. "So once you're free, what are you going to do, as far as living arrangements?" He sucked in a breath. _This is for his own good. This is for his own good. This is for his own_ fucking _good..._ "If you want to move, I can get the ball rolling."

"Move?" Sebastian said, blinking, a sneering contempt for the idea leaking into his voice. "Where? Where else can I go? Upper Mongolia? Hang out on Mount Everest, drinking yak milk and yucking it up with the sherpas? Oh! Or maybe I could move to Liberia; wouldn't _that_ be ironic? Or Vatican City; I hear they _love_ homosexual ex-slaves over there..."

"Okay, okay," Dave cut in, not able to put names to any one of the fifty fucking emotions coursing through his nerves. "You don't have to be so fucking sarcastic. It was a genuine question."

Sebastian seemed to calm down, heaving his own heavy sigh. "With all due respect, Master David, I meant what I asked: where can I go? Where can I go where my past won't matter? What magical place can I find where all my memories will vanish just like that?" He snapped his fingers; somehow, he made it sound sardonic. "I might as well stay here."

"I just thought... you might want to leave. Cut all ties. It's not like being here — or this fucking country and its laws — have done you any favors."

"And do what, once I leave? Just brood by myself? Then I might actually get up the nerve to kill myself." Sebastian's smirk was a discordant note; was it deliberate? Would it matter if it were? Dave's heart still jumped at the mere mention. "At least here..." Dave waited to for him to finish his sentence. Long minutes passed. Sebastian's eyes lowered to the floor. Still the sentence didn't finish.

"Yes...?"

"At least here..." He sighed again; Dave could _hear_ the defeat. "At least here there's some tiny bit of hope."

There were so many possible meanings that Dave couldn't bear to ask. But he had to be _sure_ , some part of his brain was demanding that he be _sure_ because his (possible) feelings didn't mean jack shit when Sebastian's entire fucking _life_ was involved... "Are you sure? Maybe... maybe it'd be easier to heal without me around to remind you..."

Sebastian raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Heal? From all of this? Seriously? And what's with all the eagerness to shove me away? I mean, I might've guessed with how much you insisted on emancipating me, but I thought you were in my corner?"

"I am. That's why I just wanted to make sure you at least thought of—"

"Oh my God. I thought you wanted me to be a free man, make my own decisions. So how about _letting_ me make my own decisions? If you didn't think I could, why free me to begin with?"

"I just..." Dave leaned forward on the couch, forearms resting on his needs, hands clenched together. Was he really going to fucking say this, interpretations be damned? He looked up at Sebastian and decided the answer was yes. "I just want you to be happy..."

Sebastian blinked three times. Dave counted. Finally, the slave managed to say, "Like I said, I think it's a bit late for that."

"You don't know that! And neither do I! It's just that this slavery thing has just fucked up so much..."

"Now that I'll agree with. But how am I supposed to get better if other people are still making decisions for me? You know better what's best for me, right? It's that kind of paternalistic bull that pisses me off about abolitionists. They say we're human, but—"

"You are!"

"Then stop trying to convince me that I don't—!" The rest of his sentence was choked off with such abruptness that it was almost like Sebastian had swallowed his own voice box.

"Don't...?"

"That I don't know what's best for me." It was pretty obvious that that wasn't what he was going to say, but Dave decided to let it slide for now.

"You can't deny that this whole slavery thing has fucked with your life and your head."

"Yours too," Sebastian said evenly. Dave opened his mouth to snap back, but his breath caught in his chest. "You're just as much a victim of your grandfather as I am."

The very idea was obscene. "Not—"

"He made sure of that the second he made out that will," he continued, as if Dave had said nothing. "He _knew_ how you felt about slavery, but he did it, to fuck with your father, and maybe make you a good little slave owner in the bargain."

"That can't possibly compare to—"

"Maybe not, but I wasn't talking about degrees. I was talking about facts, and I lived with Master Murray long enough to learn a few things. Fact: Master Murray was a bitter and manipulative old bastard. Fact: he hated your father, but he loved you and your brother, and that fucked with his mind something terrible. Fact: he always held out the hope that he could save his precious grandsons from your father's 'bad influence'. Fact: he'd been able to buy whatever he wanted all his life, so why not conversion for you and your brother?" Sebastian paused for breath; his eyes roved over Dave before he continued. "Fact: as smart as Master Murray was, he was pretty cynical and blind when it came to family. I guess... I guess that's why I thought my plan would work. I didn't know you then, and I thought Master Murray had to know your soul well enough. But..." He shook his head wryly. "It turned out he was just screwing with me one last time."

What could Dave say to _any_ of that? Denial? Deny what, exactly? Agreement? To what end? "I..." He swallowed, and started again. "I mean it, you know. You deserve a life. You deserve a chance at happiness, after everything you've been through."

Sebastian ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, if that's what you _actually_ want..."

"It is."

"I know," Sebastian snorted. "As hard as it is to believe..." He shook his head. "I just wish you'd cut the guilt."

"How? Everything that's happened to you, it's my family's fault..."

"Right. Your family. _Not_ you. Besides, I won't let you exonerate my father. This is _his_ fault. If it hadn't been Master Murray, it would've been someone else, probably even worse. I could be _dead_ now. Honestly, you should lose the whole self-blame thing. It's pretty pathetic."

"I could give you the same advice," Dave replied quietly.

"I—!" A choked sound came out of Sebastian's throat. He half got up, but sat back down. He rubbed his face with both hands, hard. He laughed harshly through his fingers; when he lowered them, his face was dry, but his eyes were shining. "You know, in a way, this _is_ all your fault. You just couldn't let the status quo stand."

"You know I couldn't."

"Only too late." Sebastian's mouth set; Dave thought he could almost hear his slave's heart racing. "Did you even stop to think about anything but my emancipation?" Sebastian asked impatiently. "Did you even stop to think what would happen after?"

"You know I did," Dave replied softly.

"Great. That's just terrific. So what brilliant conclusion did you come to? What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Whatever you want."

"I don't know what I want."

"Who does?" Dave said with a shrug. "Besides, you have a friend who'll help you figure it out."

Sebastian's face was blank — so blank that it had to be deliberate. "A friend. Right." He glared, an expression without anger, yet with a heat all its own. "I know you know."

"About...?" Dave asked carefully. There was the chance he wasn't talking about...

"How I feel about—! Shit, I'm not going to fucking say it; it's too absurd." He threw up his hands. "I know you think it's some kind of twisted codependency, but goddammit, you can't be as _good_ as you are and not expect—!"

Dave laughed. "Me? 'Good'? Maybe you don't know me as well as you thought."

"No one knows a master like a slave," Sebastian said in a low voice. "And I didn't believe it either, not at first. But whatever you believe, _I_ know. Your heart, hell, your fucking _soul_ , it... I don't care what you were before. You might've been Caligula reborn for all I know. All I know is the man you are now, and he—" He grimaced, but continued. "He did a lot for me. A lot more than most people would've done, even most abolitionists."

"I didn't make anything better. I only set things right."

"And the fact you actually both know that and _care_... I hope you never find out for yourself just how rare that is."

Dave exhaled; he'd done nothing physical all day, yet he was already exhausted. "What does Dr. Hayward think?"

"Oh, like you: that I'd be better off I made a clean break of things, moved away, left behind the memories." Sebastian laughed bitterly. "Like I could ever outrun those. Like it'd be _better_ if I left the best thing that's ever happened to me—" His voice choked off, his cheeks turning beet red. Then his face hardened, and he stared at Dave defiantly. "Fuck it. I'm going to be a free man soon. I've been through worse than this. I think I love you, all right?! And don't fucking tell me that it's because I'm your slave or it's Stockholm Syndrome or any other bullshit like that. Maybe it is because you're the first person who's ever treated me like a human being in years, but why should that _matter_? If I'm not going to be a slave anymore, you'd better start trusting me to work through my own fucking feelings and let me take a few risks, or I might as well still be your slave." The defiant glare deepened. "So that's it. Cards on the table." His shoulders sagged, as if finally freed of an incredible weight. "So what about you?"

"M-me?" It was a minor miracle Dave was even able to say that much.

"Wait... My apologies, Master David. If I could humbly make a small, insignificant request..."

"Just spit it out already," Dave sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I give you permission."

"Fine. How do... How do you feel about me?"

 _Very good question._ Extremely _good question_. "I... I think you're not the only one who needs to sort through some things."

"Fair enough." Sebastian rose. "I'll prepare supper, then."

Dave gaped; the speed of the shift in tone, mood, and topic left him almost literally dizzy. "Uh...?"

Sebastian smirked, the bastard. "I'm still your slave until the paperwork goes through. Until then, I have my duties." His face softened. "And keeping active will help me think." Then the neutrality was back. "The chicken should be finished marinating by now, so if there's nothing else...?"

He had a point. Dave waved. "No, nothing." With a curt nod, Sebastian retreated into the kitchen. Dave leaned back into the couch, closing his eyes and listening to the rattling of pots and pans, and tried very hard to suppress the headache he could feel coming on.

* * *

It took a week and a half — much faster than Dave expected. But when the day came, it was even bigger a relief than he'd anticipated.

Everything went smoothly; a few token efforts by Patton family lawyers ended in failure, as his father had predicted. Dave was Sebastian's owner, after all, and the law on this point was clear. Dr. Hayward opined that despite what would undoubtedly be a difficult adjustment period, she saw no reason why Sebastian couldn't be independent, especially with the money Dave and Jack were giving him. Being enslaved so late in life, and having run a household as large as Grandpa Murray's, had at least that advantage, not to mention the weeks of therapy he'd already undergone. But just in case, she recommended a transitional counselor who'd be able to help on a day-to-day basis, all paid for with Grandpa Murray's money.

So when that week and a half elapsed, there was only one thing left to do.

"You don't have to go," Sebastian said as he watched Dave shove the last box out of the apartment door.

"This is your apartment now," Dave replied. "The money Grandpa Murray left me was to make sure _you_ were kept up, not me. Now that you're free, it all belongs to you, as far as I'm concerned." He shrugged. "I've already got a pretty sweet solo room at the frat house — I'm sure as hell not going to let some newbie take it. Oh, and I finished washing the breakfast dishes."

"You didn't have to—"

Dave rolled his eyes. "As of midnight, you were officially a free man. You didn't even have to make breakfast. But since you did, I cleaned up."

Sebastian grimaced. "I... I don't feel any different. I suppose I thought I'd feel... you know, _free_ , but..."

"Yeah. All those years of abuse isn't going to fix itself overnight. That's why I think you should keep seeing Dr. Hayward."

"I thought you weren't my master anymore," Sebastian said with crossed arms and a sarcastic sneer.

"I'm not. That's just advice from a friend."

The very mention of the word brought on silence. It took Sebastian a few minutes of the two staring at each other to finally say something. "So... Have you thought about...?"

"Yeah," Dave almost whispered.

"And?" Neither of them knew just whose heartbeat was suddenly audible in the quiet apartment — or if it was both of theirs.

"I think..." Dave felt as though he were leaning over the edge of a great chasm, feeling the wind whip across his face and considering the void stretching out before him... But knowing that if he made it to the other side, what awaited him could be more wonderful than he could ever imagine. "I think this wasn't the ideal way we could've met."

Sebastian barked with laughter. "Glad to see that college education has been good for something."

Dave chuckled. "Apparently, yeah. Anyway... God, 'not ideal' doesn't even _begin_ to cover it. This whole thing is fucking complicated..."

"Agreed."

"There's _so_ many ways this could blow up in both our faces, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you any more than you already have... You deserve some simplicity in your life for once..."

"I suppose..." Sebastian's face was starting to fall; Dave's first impulse was to do and say _anything_ to fix it.

And that, he realized, meant something. Nothing necessarily good or bad — just _something_. Something significant.

"But..." He forced himself not to turn away, to continue to meet Sebastian's eyes straight on. He deserved that much. "I want to give it a shot."

Sebastian gave a little gasp — suppressed, but much too late. "You...?"

"I want to give it a shot," Dave repeated. "Figure things out, without the whole master-slave thing hanging over our heads. I want to try. I want to help you adjust to your new life. I want to be there for you, any way I can. Because I want to. Because you deserve it, God, you deserve it so much, so much more than I could ever give you..." Dave took a ragged breath. "But even if... even if we never get together as... you know... You're still my friend, as far as I'm concerned. You'll always have me that way, no matter what."

Sebastian bit his lower lip; Dave saw his hands ball into fists for a moment before finally relaxing. "Thanks," he rasped. "I... That's more than I could've hoped for. I'll take what I can get."

"You deserve a lot more than that." The atmosphere was suddenly so light that it was only then that Dave was conscious that there had been any heaviness to begin with. Although he didn't know which of them had been its origin... Did it really matter? "Thought about what you're going to do now?"

Sebastian seemed relieved at the change in topic, shrugging lightly. "Thinking about getting formal chef training. I've created quite a few good recipes over the years, and I think I'm good enough to make it big."

Dave smiled, feeling better than he had in months, better than any time since he found out about that goddamn will. "That sounds great."

"There's more..."

"Oh?"

"But I want to save something for dinner conversation."

"D-dinner?"

"Oh, did I forget to mention that? I want to invite you back here for dinner tonight. To celebrate. With a friend."

"What, we have something to celebrate?" Dave asked with an arch grin.

"Until a few minutes ago, I wasn't sure. But now..." Sebastian smiled, warm and genuine, for the first time since Dave met him. "I think there is: hope."

Dave nodded. Hope... Sebastian hadn't allowed himself that for so long... But now, there was a little — just enough. That so much of it revolved around _him_ was, to say the least, a little scary. But Sebastian was right: he was a free man now, able to make decisions for himself for the first time in years. There was no way Dave was going to spit on that in a futile effort to be "noble." "So what are you making?"

Sebastian raised a haughty eyebrow. "Me? I've been literally slaving over a hot stove for you for months. I'm a free man now! I think it's high time _you_ cooked for _me_ for a change!"

Dave burst out laughing. "You're inviting me to dinner... and making _me_ cook it?!"

"And why not? I know you can. If you didn't pick up a few things watching me all this time, you're even dumber than I thought."

Dave wiped tears out of his eyes. "O-okay, _fine_ ," he gasped once he had some modicum of control over his lungs. "You've still got those filets in the freezer, right?"

"Excellent choice!" Sebastian exclaimed, clapping his hands in delight. "And a Caesar salad! I think we have the makings for chocolate mousse too... You'd better come over around 4 if you're going to have dinner ready before I starve to death. Oh, and those steaks had better not be any more cooked than medium rare, or you're a dead man."

Already Sebastian was changing — into who he always was, maybe? Was this what life was going to be like from now on, with this man in it?

Well, there was only one thing he could say to all _that_.

Dave grinned, bowing low at the waist. "Yes, master."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was proper to stop here; the situation is delicate and complicated, and the tale of Sebastian and Dave from here on in is another story entirely (if it were to continue, I envision Sebastian getting involved in anti-slavery causes with Jack, getting more and more intense until Dave is caught in the middle). But I think they have a shot.
> 
> Thank you, everyone who kept up with this for so long. I have no idea how this thing got so popular, but I'm glad it did. It was my first foray into this kind of world, and I hope it turned out well. Villainessy, I hope you enjoyed the journey, and that this was at least somewhat close to what you were envisioning and hoping for.
> 
> Until next time...


End file.
